The Gambler
by ozhawk
Summary: Soulmate Short continuation of Jemma/Gambit. In a Soulmarks AU, a quiet biochemist and a dangerous mutant must come together to fight their mutual enemies... Rated M for smut.
1. Karaoke Nightmares

**The Gambler**

**This is the Jemma/Gambit Soulmate Short, continued. I haven't got a complete plot worked out yet, but I'll get there… until then, we've got a morning-after to contend with…**

**Chapter One is of course just a repeat of the original Short. Chapter Two is where I pick up the thread of the story…**

**Chapter One – Karaoke Nightmare**

_Kenny Rogers – The Gambler_

"It's your birthday and we are _going out_." Skye actually had a grip on Jemma's hair, marching her out of the lab and off to her room.

"All right, all right!"

"So put on a nice dress and let's go."

Jemma only _had_ one good dress, a strappy, red number she'd bought on a whim and never worn. She put it on reluctantly.

"Stop trying to pull it up over your boobs, you look sexy as hell," Skye told her as they drove to the bar.

"Give over, no one's going to look twice at me with you and Bobbi along," Jemma shook her head, but Skye was insistent.

"You're beautiful, Jemma. Someday the right guy is gonna come along and make you believe it."

The bar wasn't far away. It wasn't her first visit with the team, but it was the first time Jemma had been there in a dress, and she was surprised by the appreciative looks she got. Not that she was interested. It wasn't like she was going to meet her soulmate in a place like _this_, was it?

Skye seemed determined to get her drunk, and in the end Jemma gave in and did a few tequila shots, feeling pleasantly buzzed afterwards.

"There's a hot guy at the bar, keeps staring at you," Skye nudged her. "Told you that dress was a good idea."

"I'm sure he's not," but Jemma couldn't help but look. She'd seen the guy Skye was talking about, he was unmissable. Longish brown hair, he was wearing a black leather coat over a grey T-shirt and a hat that shaded his eyes but in no way hid that he was extremely good-looking. And he _was_ watching her, idly shuffling a pack of cards in his hands. He smiled as she looked at him. She looked away, blushing.

"More tequila," Skye decided.

Several drinks later, the karaoke started. They discovered that there was in fact something Melinda May couldn't do as she totally butchered _Total Eclipse Of The Heart_, and then Bobbi and Lance sang _Summer Lovin'_ to each other and disappeared together afterwards.

"Oh no, not you," Jemma said as Fitz picked up the microphone. "You sing like a bullfrog."

Fitz grinned and poked her. "You do it then."

"Oh, all right," she chose a song. "My dad used to put this one on in the car."

"She can really sing," Fitz nudged Skye. "Watch this."

They watched as Jemma picked up the microphone and stepped up on the little stage, a touch unsteady in the black strappy heels Skye had coaxed her into. And then the music started and she began to sing, a low, sultry voice that made every man in the bar snap to attention.

"On a warm summer's eve, on a train bound for nowhere, I met up with the gambler, we were both too tired to sleep…"

From the corner of her eye, Jemma saw the hot guy at the bar suddenly jerk upright and jump to his feet. And then he was walking towards the stage slowly, staring at her.

_What the hell, he's gorgeous. And I'm drunk_. As he reached the stage, she sauntered over, deliberately swinging her hips, leaned over and put her free hand on his cheek, and sang the chorus directly to him.

"You've got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, know when to run…"

Skye whooped. "You _go_, girl!"

Jemma looked over at Skye, trying not to laugh as she sang. Hot Guy backed away, but he didn't stop staring at her.

At the end of the song, she curtseyed to the raucous applause and handed the microphone to a laughing Skye, insisting it was her turn. Hot and sweating, Jemma headed for the door, thinking she'd take a breather for a moment.

She ran right into Hot Guy outside. He caught her elbow as she stumbled, and little prickles of heat ran up her arm from his touch. He'd removed the hat and his coat, and he was even sexier now she could see his whole face.

"You have a lovely voice, _chère_," he said in a thick Cajun accent.

Those words were like a dash of cold water in the face for Jemma. They'd been scrawled on her inner thigh since the day of her birth. "What?" she gasped.

"Took me a while to figure out the words were from a song." He held out his arm, and she made out the words printed neatly on the inside of his forearm, visible now he'd taken his coat off. "Been looking for a girl who'd sing them to me for even longer. I'm Remy. Remy LeBeau."

"Well it's certainly an apt surname," Jemma couldn't help but say. "Handsome."

"So what's your name, _chère_?" he lifted her hand to his lips, gazing down at her. "Since it seems you're my soulmate and all."

"Jemma. Simmons."

Remy drew a little closer to her, her hand still held in his, and then his free arm slid around her waist.

There was something _really_ strange about his eyes. Jemma frowned, her drunken brain trying to figure out what it was, and then Remy whirled her around suddenly, bringing her hand to the back of his neck.

"I got secrets, _chère,_ dangerous secrets," he whispered in her ear, his low, husky voice making her shiver with sudden want.

"So do I," she gasped back. "Maybe – maybe that's why I'm meant to be yours."

"I surely do like the sound of that. _Mine_." He nibbled at her ear, and she almost melted. "I'll find you soon," he whispered, and suddenly he was gone, as Skye and Fitz spilled out of the bar, calling her name. For an instant Jemma saw him in the distance, a shadowy figure, his hat over his eyes again. And then he was gone.

"What's this?" Skye held something out to her. It was a playing card.

The Queen of Hearts.

**So chapter 2 follows on directly afterwards – well, the morning after, anyway.**


	2. He Was Real

**Chapter Two – He Was Real**

_The Who – Baba O'Reilly_

"Bleurgh."

This was why she didn't drink. Still in her red dress, though the shoes had been discarded somewhere, Jemma peeled herself slowly off the bed and staggered towards the bathroom.

_Oh dear God my head hurts_. She scrabbled in the medicine cabinet for aspirin, thought for a moment wistfully of the wide selection of pharmaceuticals in her lab, and mentally smacked herself for even _thinking_ of it.

A few minutes later she stumbled back towards the bed. A couple more hours sleep would be just the thing, and really on the day after her birthday no one could expect her to be in the lab at the crack of dawn… well, okay, eight-fifteen, but she often worked until after midnight, one day late would…

Jemma's train of thought fractured and broke. She'd been busy peeling off the dress, knowing she'd be much more comfortable sleeping without it and the strapless bra she'd had on underneath, when something fluttered to the floor. A playing card, landing face up. The Queen of Hearts.

"Oh God." Suddenly, she was wide awake and very alert, even though her head was still pounding and her stomach roiled. "That was real! _He_ was real!"

"Jemma?" there was a soft scratching at her door. "Jemma, are you awake? Are you feeling all right?"

She grabbed her dressing-gown hastily and dragged it on to cover her nakedness, heading for the door. "That you, Skye?" and at her friend's affirmative answer, she yanked the door open and almost bodily dragged her inside.

"Hey – oh, wow, you don't look such a good colour," Skye appraised her. "Do you need any Alka-Seltzer?" she held up a tube.

"No. What I need is for you to hack that bar's surveillance system and get me the footage from last night."

"Er…" Skye blinked, surveying Jemma cautiously. The scientist really didn't look well, her skin even paler than usual, her hair a mess of tangled chestnut curls. "…why? Because if you're thinking of blackmailing May with footage of her singing, I think that's a _really_ terrible idea…"

Jemma snatched the card off the floor and shoved it at Skye. "Because _my soulmate_ gave me this, and I don't know who he is or anything about him!" She'd been wracking her brain, but she just couldn't come up with his name. "Except, he might be French."

"French? _Your_ soulmate?" Skye's eyebrows were climbing steadily.

"He called me _chère_. And he had an accent."

"Ooh. Hot. It – it wasn't that hot guy with the hat, from the bar?" Skye's eyes were suddenly as wide as saucers. "Fitz and I thought we saw him go outside just before you did…"

Jemma nodded jerkily, clutching onto the card when Skye tried to take it. "He was even hotter close up. He took his hat off." She remembered the sharply carved lines of his cheekbones, those glowing eyes…

… _GLOWING EYES?_

"Surveillance footage. I need to see the footage _right now_."

Skye stared at Jemma, slightly alarmed, and then very carefully detached Jemma's hand from where it was gripping onto the collar of Skye's jacket. "Tell you what. Why don't you have a shower and get some clothes on while I go to my office and hack into the bar's cameras? Because AC will have a fit if he sees you running round the halls looking like you do right now."

Skye was right, much though Jemma hated to admit it, and Coulson did have an uncanny ability to appear just when you didn't want him to. He seemed to catch Hunter and Morse every single time one of them did the walk of shame – Jemma just wished the two of them would own up already and start sharing a room. Preferably Hunter's, which had the advantage of being _not_ next door to Jemma.

"All right," she conceded. "I'll go wash. You go hack, and see what you can find in the way of footage of…" she blushed.

"You didn't even get his _name_?" Skye squawked, shocked.

"He told me! But – I was so drunk I can't remember it."

Howling with laughter, Skye left Jemma alone and went off to her office. Jemma headed for the shower, scowling. What the _hell_ was his name? She could remember the way his thickly accented, husky voice sounded, remember feeling the heat of him against her back as he pulled her against him, but his name… she closed her eyes against the hot needles of water beating on her face.

_Mine_. That gravelly voice almost seemed to whisper in her ear again, and she twitched, reaching for her shampoo. _I'll find you soon_, he'd murmured before pulling his disappearing trick, but how on earth could he? Her identity had been erased, she lived in a top-secret spy base – how could he possibly find her? No, she'd have to find _him_. Fortunately, she knew just how to do it.

"So what have you found?" she strode into Skye's office fifteen minutes later, hair still damp but at least she was clean, teeth brushed, dressed in her favourite pale blue blouse, black and white cardigan and comfortable black trousers.

"A guy who doesn't like surveillance cameras," Skye responded dryly. She tapped a few keys on her keyboard and the big screen across the room lit up. "The bar's got excellent camera coverage, but look. The place he's sitting at the bar is covered by one camera only, right at the very edge of the field of view. And with that hat on, there's basically no view of his face at all."

Jemma bit her lip, looking at the frozen image on the screen. It was a good, clear image, but it showed almost nothing of her soulmate's face.

"I don't think it was a coincidence he picked that seat." Skye shrugged. "He's got an excellent view of the whole bar, he's in a dark corner, and it's probably the closest thing to a surveillance blind spot in there."

"Do you think he's a regular?"

"The bar's hard drive only holds a week's worth of footage before overwriting itself," Skye shrugged, "and he wasn't in there any other night this last week." She grinned. "Watch this."

Jemma watched as Skye touched a key, and the frozen image moved again. Hat Guy – she was going to call him that until her _stupid_ brain dredged up his name – jerked slightly, his head turning, body shifting as he obviously sought to get a better view of something.

"What's he looking at?" Jemma asked. For answer, Skye hit another key and the screen divided, the other half showing the take from another camera. And Jemma, walking into the room in her red dress, laughing at something Fitz had just said.

"You."

"He was _not_."

"Oh yes he was. Look." Skye ran both cameras back in sync for a few seconds, then played the footage again. After a few seconds she switched in a third camera, showing Jemma walking across the bar and Hat Guy quite clearly shifting on his stool, leaning forward to keep his eyes on her. "Hot Hat Guy was _definitely_ watching you, Simmons, long before he knew he was your soulmate. Told you that red dress was a good idea. I caught him looking at you once or twice, but he was watching you all night. It wasn't until you got up on the stage that he made a move, though."

Jemma sat down with a thump, staring at the screen. Skye was right: she fast-forwarded through the footage, showing Hat Guy shifting his bar stool slightly back so he could lean on the bar and surreptitiously watch their table. He watched her when she went to the bathroom, when she came to the bar to order the round she'd insisted on buying even though it was her birthday.

Then Skye pointed Hat Guy out – she remembered that – and she saw herself turn to look at him. Saw his head tip slightly, though the smile she recalled was invisible to the camera. Her answering blush wasn't, though.

"He really _was_ looking at me," she said wonderingly.

"And there's no possible way he could have known you were his soulmate, could he? You didn't say your name in your words…?"

"No," Jemma shook her head. "I _sang_ them to him."

"Oh my God, of course you did!" Skye laughed. "Well then he really had no way of knowing. He obviously just thought you were sexy. Which you _were_, Simmons, he wasn't the only guy in the bar paying attention, you know."

Pink-cheeked, she gave Skye a glare. "Come on, Skye, we need to know who he is! You must have got some better shots of him when he came on over to me!"

Skye grinned and tapped keys. "Somewhat. Even then he was still aware of the cameras, kept his face tilted away from them."

Jemma watched as Hat Guy came walking over. Skye was right, even though he was looking directly at Jemma – and she spared a moment to feel horribly embarrassed about the way she was dancing, she looked positively slutty – the cameras still never got a clear view of his face. The best view was when she put a hand to his cheek to sing to him and he looked up at her.

"You've got your hand over too much of his face," Skye muttered, tapping keys. "I can't get enough points for facial recognition."

Jemma moved closer to the screen, peering at his face. "Do you see something strange about his eyes?"

Skye zoomed in. "No… just the light reflecting off them in a funny way?"

"Hmm." Jemma watched as Hat Guy stepped back, stared at her for a minute longer, and then abruptly turned away and headed out the door.

"Now hang on, I didn't see this bit." Skye paused everything as Jemma walked to the door too, and after a couple of minutes brought up two more camera feeds. "Aha, the outside cameras! Oh… _wow_."

Hat Guy apparently didn't know about one of the cameras. Because he took his hat and jacket off in full view of it, turning back to look at the door of the bar. The light outside wasn't fantastic, but Skye soon had the footage enhanced for a close look.

"Fuck, Jemma, he's gorgeous," Skye let out a low whistle, both women staring at the screen, at the chiselled features of the man standing there, watching the door. "How did he guess you'd come out?"

"I was hot. And he wasn't far ahead of me, he probably saw me looking at the door as I came down off the stage and guessed I'd go outside to cool down," Jemma reasoned, as she saw herself come out and run right into her soulmate. He caught her and spoke, and she winced as she saw her own startled recoil.

"That's when he said your words?" Skye said quietly, feeling as though she was intruding on something very private all of a sudden.

"Yes, and he showed me his arm," Jemma pointed. They could clearly see the dark markings on her soulmate's arm as he held it out. They spoke for a few moments more, and then suddenly he was spinning her around and pulling her back against him. Jemma gasped in surprise at the speed he'd moved.

"Wow," Skye was staring again. "Damn, you and him look hot together, Jemma."

And then he was gone, almost a blur, the card fluttering to the ground in front of Jemma as Skye and Fitz came out of the bar.

"That was it, he just _left_?" Skye said incredulously.

"He said he'd find me," Jemma said despondently, "but I don't see how he _can_. I told him my real name, but you erased me off the grid…"

"Well," Skye wound back the footage, pausing on a great clear shot of that gorgeous face, "let's see if we can't find _him_, hmm?"

Skye set to work on her computer magic, selecting points and programming a facial recognition search. "He likes playing with cards," she muttered, "so let's try the casinos first – the Gaming Commission…"

Three-quarters of an hour later Skye was practically tearing her hair out. Hat Guy didn't seem to _exist_ in the system. "He's not French," was all she could determine. "He'd have to have a passport photo in the system. You said he _sounded_ French?"

"Sort of," Jemma sighed, kneading at her forehead with her knuckles. She tried to mimic his accent saying her soulmark words, which sent Skye into hysterical giggles.

"He could be Cajun," Skye murmured when she eventually recovered. "Louisiana… hmm."

Jemma found herself fidgeting, staring at the image on the screen, the clear picture of her soulmate's face. Moving closer, she peered at his eyes again. "Skye, can you zoom in on his face?"

Skye glanced up, zoomed in and went back to her tapping.

There was _definitely_ something wrong with his eyes. There was no light that could be reflecting in them, and they were _glowing_. Drunk-Jemma on the video seemed to have noticed it too, which was why he spun her around, she guessed, to stop her looking.

"Uh, Jemma," Skye said behind her. "You'll want to look at this."

"What?" she rounded Skye's desk, looked down at her screen. There was a photo of her soulmate there, wearing a white T-shirt and black jacket, staring directly at the camera with an unsmiling expression.

"You found him! Who is he?"

"Well, that's the problem." Skye tapped at the bottom of the screen. "This photo is from the S.H.I.E.L.D. asset register database. It's restricted access. Even I can't get in without Coulson knowing about it, and he'll want to know why."

_Restricted Access_, the caption below the image read. _Identity Classified, Level 8._

"He's on the _asset register_?" Jemma said incredulously.

"Level 8 means May would have access?" Skye glanced sideways at her. "If you didn't want to tell Coulson just yet…"

Jemma sighed. "I have to."

Skye gave her a funny look.

"Oh, that's right, you still haven't read the S.H.I.E.L.D. procedural handbook, have you?" Jemma gave her a censuring look. "Well, if you _had_, you'd know that there's a whole section on _What To Do When You Meet Your Soulmate, _Section 16_._ And section 16.1.1 states, _Upon meeting your soulmate, it is your duty to report the meeting to your superior officer within 24 hours unless constrained from doing so by operational conditions_."

"Do you really have that entire handbook memorised?" Skye said with a grin.

Jemma gave her a glare in return. "Are you going to bring that while I go and 'fess up to Coulson or not?" she asked a bit plaintively, gesturing at Skye's tablet. "Because I'd _really_ like to know his name. And where to find him. And why the _hell_ he's on the Asset Register."

"Those are all very excellent questions," Skye conceded, scooping up her tablet. "All right. Let's go face Dad and tell him one of his girls is all grown up."

**Next chapter: Jemma tells Coulson and is somewhat surprised by his reaction…**


	3. You THINK It's Nothing Bad?

**Chapter Three – You **_**Think**_** It's Nothing Bad?**

_Sugarland – Baby Girl_

Phil Coulson had an open-door policy. Which meant, literally, if his office door was open you were welcome to go in. If not – well, you better have a _really_ good reason.

Jemma and Skye didn't have to worry this morning, though, because the door was open and Phil was sitting, not at his desk, but in one of the comfortable chairs to the side, reading a report while sipping his coffee. He glanced up to where they hovered nervously at the door and smiled.

"Good morning, Skye. Simmons." Sharp eyes took in Jemma's pale face and Skye's slightly furrowed brow. "Ohhh-kay." He set down the report and his mug. "You'd better tell me."

"It's nothing bad, sir!" Jemma rushed to reassure him. "I – think."

"You _think_ it's nothing bad? The last time someone said that to me, Agent Barton had just blown up the Azerbaijani Parliament building… well, never mind. Sit down and tell me." He gestured to the two other chairs. "You look pale, Jemma, are you all right?"

She blushed a little, which at least had the effect of improving the colour in her cheeks somewhat. "I'm afraid I'm a little hungover, sir."

"Ah, the birthday drinks! Yes, May assured me that a good time was had by all."

"Still think you should have come with us, AC," Skye grumbled.

"Someone had to stay and mind the store, Skye," Phil said, unruffled. Skye had begged and pleaded for him to go, but he knew it wouldn't have been appropriate. It wasn't so much that he thought the boss shouldn't fraternise with his subordinates when off-duty – the excuse he'd given her – but more that these girls really _were_ like the daughters he'd never had. And no father wants to see his daughter doing shots and hitting on strange men in a bar. Bad enough in his imagination, he had no doubt it was probably ten times worse in reality.

Looking again at Jemma's pale face, he got up and went to his desk, returning with a granola bar and putting it into her hand. He fetched her a bottle of water from his office fridge as well. "There; now I won't be quite as concerned that you'll pass out on me, Simmons."

She gave him a grateful smile and started nibbling on the granola. Skye gave her an expectant stare, though, and she finally choked down the first bite. Phil sat back, and waited patiently.

"I need to report, under the S.H.I.E.L.D. Procedures Handbook Section 16.1.1, that I met my soulmate last night, sir."

Phil had just taken another sip of his coffee. He spluttered it back into the cup. "_What_? I mean, who, when? In that bar?"

"Yes, sir, in the bar. As for _who_," Jemma gestured at Skye, "I was hoping you could tell _me_, sir."

Skye held out her tablet wordlessly. Phil looked at the screen. And then he leaned in closer, staring incredulously.

"Simmons, _tell_ me this isn't the man you met last night."

Skye reached out and swiped across the screen, switching it to the view from outside the bar, when Hat Guy and Jemma came face to face. It was very clearly the same man.

"Oh, _shit_."

"Sir? Coulson!" Jemma grabbed at Phil's shoulders as he slumped back in his chair, going an alarming grey colour. "Don't you dare have a heart attack on me!" She loosened his tie, checked his pulse anxiously.

"I'm not having a heart attack," he muttered faintly. "It's just a nasty shock. I might have expected Skye to come up with a soulmate like that, but _you_, Jemma?"

She was beginning to feel a bit unwell herself. Skye gave her a push back into her chair. "Don't you dare faint! AC, you're scaring her. You're scaring _me_. Who the hell is this guy? I didn't even know there _was_ a Level 8 clearance on the Asset Register until just now."

"There are a number of individuals who are considered so dangerous, that the very fact of their existence is concealed until an agent reaches Level 8 or higher," Phil murmured.

"So _dangerous_?" Jemma had to put her head between her knees. Skye patted her back, trying to soothe her.

"Why didn't May recognise him last night?" Skye demanded. "I know she saw him, we were both laughing at the way he looked at Jemma's ass when she walked to the bathroom…"

Phil shuddered, holding a hand up to stop Skye. He really didn't want to hear about it. "I highly doubt Agent May ever met him, nor would she have a reason to go into the Level 8 Asset Register database unless I asked her to. Which I haven't."

Skye gave him a Look, and he sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Jemma, you're absolutely, one hundred per cent, _sure_ that he's your soulmate?"

"Even if I could ever be persuaded to do karaoke again," Jemma muttered into her knees, "I can't imagine anyone else complimenting me in French afterwards."

"_Karaoke_…? No, never mind. All right." Phil sighed, took the tablet, and gave it his thumbprint and a code to access the restricted data. "His name is Remy LeBeau."

"Oh, shit, of course it is!" Jemma lifted her head as her brain cleared, took one look at the horrified, incredulous expression on Phil's face and decided discretion was the better part of valour. She put her face back between her knees.

"Hah, doesn't _le beau_ mean _the handsome one_?" Skye let out a chortle.

"As far as we know, he was born with the name, he didn't choose it," Phil said dryly as Skye grabbed the tablet back, scanning it. "LeBeau is a Cajun from New Orleans. He's a lot older than he looks, Jemma, he's been on our radar since the seventies."

"_What_?" Jemma's head snapped up. "No way. He looked barely older than me!"

"He's believed to be one of a number of individuals with some very advanced healing properties. He associates with…" Phil paused, wondering exactly what he should say "… several other individuals who are also Level 8 classified."

Skye and Jemma both gave him incredulous looks, and he rubbed his forehead. "I shouldn't even be talking to you about this."

"Have you met Remy?" Jemma asked then, and Phil winced at the way her voice already softened over his name.

"Once. It was a long time ago. I was a very junior agent." He hesitated, and then decided he might as well come clean. "It was a messy situation; we were pinned down in a very ugly firefight with – well, it doesn't matter, that particular terrorist group no longer exists. LeBeau came strolling into the fight and went through sixty men in about three minutes without so much as a scratch on him."

"_How_?" Jemma whispered, dry-mouthed.

"He does this thing." Phil waved his hands, trying to find a way to describe it. "He didn't allow us – S.H.I.E.L.D. that is – to study him, and because of the very nature of his power I don't think it would be possible to imprison him – but he did talk, briefly, to Peggy Carter. He explained to her that he is able to convert the potential energy of _things_ – anything, really – to kinetic energy."

Skye's eyes glazed over at the science-speak. Jemma's widened incredulously. "That's… not possible."

"Jemma." Phil reached out, put his hand on hers gently. "I watched LeBeau take down a small army of insurgents with a pack of playing cards and a handful of gravel he picked up. He was throwing tiny specks of gravel – with deadly accuracy – and they were exploding like hand grenades. This was twenty-three years ago. There was nothing on Earth that could have mimicked what he did, in the way of technology. I don't think there is even today."

She had to put her head between her knees again. _Playing cards. Oh God_.

"He gave her a playing card," Skye told Phil.

"He gave me one too."

Both girls looked at him, shocked. Phil smiled slightly, headed over to his office safe, and after a few moments of fiddling with the combination, returned. "He gave them to several agents, over the years. I'm pretty sure we all kept them. Peggy Carter got the Queen of Spades, Fury the King of Clubs, Hill the Queen of Clubs. Barton got the Joker. Romanoff told me that she ran across him once in Russia, before she even joined S.H.I.E.L.D., and he gave her the Queen of Diamonds. When we found Steve Rogers, a letter arrived at the Triskelion the same day addressed to him: the only thing in it was a King of Diamonds." He came back to them and handed over a playing card.

It was the same type of card he'd given her, Jemma realised, black with an image of a pink gem on it. She flipped it over. The King of Spades. She looked up at Coulson in surprise. "This is yours?"

"Yes. He gave it to me right after he pulled me and my team out of that mess. Peggy Carter noted that she believed LeBeau could, to some degree, tell the future with his cards. Like the Tarot."

"Maybe _that's_ why he was there last night," Skye murmured, slowly starting to accept. "He _knew_ you'd be there, Jemma. Wearing a red dress. His Queen of Hearts."

"He gave you _that_ card?" Phil's eyebrows shot up.

Unwillingly, Jemma pulled the card from her pocket and showed him. Phil looked and sighed.

"I've learned the hard way never to try to come between soulmates, Jemma. Bad things happen to those who do. So I won't tell you to stay away from him. But LeBeau is dangerous – quite probably the most dangerous person you'll ever meet – and I want you to promise me you'll be very careful and not just put your trust in him blindly."

Jemma nodded, unable to speak. That much she could promise. She reached for Skye's tablet, forgotten on the table, and started scrolling through the information on Remy.

"Guv'nor?" all three of them looked up to see Hunter at the door. "Sorry, am I interrupting? The door was open."

"It's all right, Hunter," Phil got to his feet. "What is it?"

"Just got back from doing a supply run, stopped by the mailbox we set up in town on the off-chance that there might be some post." He held an envelope out to Phil.

"Thanks – oh," _Juliet Simpson_, the name on the envelope said, in a bold hand. It was one of the aliases Skye had set up for Jemma. "It's for you, Jemma."

She looked up from the tablet in surprise and accepted the letter. Phil nodded to Hunter, who departed with only a curious glance at the two girls. Prudently, Phil decided to close the door. If that envelope was what he thought it might be…

A playing card fluttered to the floor. Skye dived for it, picking it up. "The four of hearts?" she frowned, puzzled. "What does that mean?"

There was a slip of paper in the envelope too. Jemma pulled it out. "'Stop looking. I told you I'd find you soon. R.'," she read aloud

"Okay, that's officially spooky," Skye said. She picked up the envelope. "This is postmarked three days ago. Sent from New Orleans."

"What date is it today?" Phil asked suddenly.

"The twelfth, why?"

He took the four of hearts from Skye's hand. "I think he's telling you when he's coming, Jemma. Four days from now."

Jemma had to put her head between her knees again.

Phil sighed and passed a hand over his forehead, finding sweat beading on it. _So this is what happens when you have daughters_. _They fall in love with hell-raisers and turn all of your remaining hair grey_.

"Oh my God, how am I going to tell May?"

**In MCU canon, Jemma Simmons' birthday is given as September 11. I'm moving it to December 11 to better suit what I want to do, plus although Season 2 isn't timeline-fitted yet, I think it might run over her birthday, and I want this set in the mid-season break after San Juan.**

**Incidentally, all the abilities I've suggested Remy has come from the Marvel wiki on him – I'm not a comic reader! His age comes from the fact that he was running around in X-Men Origins: Wolverine which is set in the late '70's. It hasn't been suggested that he doesn't age (like Wolverine) but he does have superhuman strength and agility, and with his energy abilities he could quite possibly manipulate his physical form to not age.**

**As you may be able to tell, I'm largely playing this one for the giggles. Hence Hawkeye and the Azerbaijani Parliament. "It was only a **_**small**_** bomb, sir!"**

**(For super-fun Hawkeye giggles, check out the fic entitled Things Clint Barton May Not Do by MadamBackslash – it's Ao3 only but HYSTERICALLY funny. Excellent inspiration for crackfic).**


	4. Were You Not Expecting Me?

**Chapter Four – Were You Not Expecting Me?**

_Matchbox 20 – Suffer Me_

Four days was an agonising, awful amount of time to wait when your nerves were completely shot, Jemma thought. She'd spent the time trying to stay busy, reading and re-reading the rather thin Asset Register entry on Remy that contained little more than what Coulson had told her, and a bunch of redacted links to 'known affiliates' who were also all Level 8 classified and who Coulson refused to discuss.

May suggested that they go down to the vaults again and check Peggy Carter's files, and they did find another one. The only new information in it was that Remy occasionally used the code name 'Gambit', that he'd actually performed a few top-secret missions for S.H.I.E.L.D. as personal favours to Peggy Carter, who he'd apparently liked enormously, and that Agent Carter herself had noted; _'LeBeau has extremely strange eyes.'_

"What does _extremely strange_ mean?" Skye turned the paper over, frowning when she realised the other side was blank. She picked up the next sheet in the file.

"They were kind of glowy," was all Jemma could really recall. "Ooh, known associates!" she reached for the sheet Skye had just picked up.

"Nope," May whisked the paper from their fingers, put it back in the file and closed it. "Coulson said no," she reminded both Skye and Jemma when they made grumpy faces at her. "Now come on, both of you stop drooling over Jemma's hot soulmate and get back to work. You've still got jobs to do, if you'll recall."

"You thought he was cute too?" Jemma asked a bit shyly as May locked the vault behind them.

May smiled at her, an unexpectedly wicked grin. "I may be an old lady compared to you two, but I'm not dead yet, Jemma. I had a damn good look in the bar, but he only had eyes for you."

Jemma blushed as Skye laughed. "You're certainly not old, May!"

"I'm glad to hear you say that, or I should have had to kick your ass. Now get back to work." May nodded to both of them and headed off down the corridor.

_Tomorrow_. He'd come find her tomorrow. Jemma brushed her hair, looking in the mirror, wondering what Remy saw when he looked at her. She'd come to accept Skye's reasoning that he had to have somehow known she would be in the bar that night, in a red dress; and he had been looking for her specifically. They'd been back over the surveillance footage several times – in their free time, after a lecture from May – and he hadn't wasted more than a glance on anyone else.

But – had he been disappointed? Intellectually, Jemma knew she didn't exactly look as though she'd been beaten with the ugly stick. But she wasn't the kind of girl who would make heads turn on the street, either, nor was she in Remy's league looks-wise. Why on earth had the Fates apparently paired her, so _ordinary_, with _him_?

With a sigh, Jemma headed to her bed. Phil had alerted the others that they might be having a visitor tomorrow: Remy had apparently been to the Playground back in Peggy Carter's day and knew exactly where it was, and no one wanted an incident, so everyone had been ordered to keep their guns firmly holstered.

Jemma had herself sat down and talked to Fitz, very gently, about Remy and finding out that he was her soulmate. Fitz had looked devastated, but he knew as well as Jemma that theirs was a platonic bond, and wanting it to be more was never going to turn the silvery lettering black. Trying to turn a platonic bond into a romantic one was a recipe for utter disaster.

Fitz _knew_ that. But the events of the last year had taken a toll on all of them, and he, not wanting to be alone and waiting for his soulmate any longer, had managed to convince himself that he and Jemma _could_ be more. Indeed, some of the team members not aware of their platonic bond – Mack, Bobbi, Hunter – had even tried to push Jemma at Fitz. Until she snapped and showed them the silvery lettering on her left foot.

Jemma touched her other writing as she changed into her pyjamas. High on her left inner thigh, they were only visible to others if she was wearing a swimsuit or something equally skimpy – which she never did. She even swam in shorts. Soulmarks were _private_; she could never flaunt hers the way Hunter did the one across his collarbones, regularly wearing open-necked shirts to show Bobbi's careless scrawl of _You asshole, I needed him alive!_ there.

Sighing, Jemma buttoned up her pyjama jacket and crawled into bed, tugging the covers over herself. It was bitterly cold, in mid-December. The Playground was in the foothills of the Appalachians and there was snow predicted tonight, perhaps even a blizzard. Maybe Remy wouldn't be able to get here after all. She huddled down into the blankets, shivering, waiting for her body heat to warm the little cave under the covers enough so that she could fall asleep. Maybe she'd talk to Mack tomorrow, see if he had time to take a look at the antiquated boilers that were running the Playground's inadequate heating system.

She woke warm and deliciously comfortable, a clean scent of pine and cinnamon filling her nostrils.

"Umm," Jemma sighed, snuggling deeper into the soft cashmere pillowing her cheek.

_Wait. Cashmere?_ She definitely didn't have a cashmere blanket. Her eyes opened.

"Are you awake, _chère_?" that low, unforgettable voice murmured, and Jemma completely failed to suppress a scream, not that she got more than the slightest squeak out before warm lips pressed over hers, swallowing the sound.

_I should fight, I should scream, oh my God he kisses well._ Jemma melted bonelessly into Remy, her lips parting shamelessly as he flicked his tongue over them, teasing her to open up to him. Her hands crept up to brace on his chest, broad and definitely well-muscled under the cashmere sweater he had on. He didn't hold onto her in return – if he had she might have panicked – just kept contact with his lips, kissing her softly until she was completely relaxed against him. And then he drew back his head and smiled at her.

It took Jemma a moment to clear her thoroughly addled brain. "What are you _doing_ here?" she finally asked plaintively.

A dark eyebrow arched. "Told you I'd come find you, _chère_. Were you not expecting me?"

"Not in my bed!"

"Ah," his lips curved in a sensual little smile. "I'm sorry about that. But when I came in you looked so cold, you were all huddled up – I couldn't quite resist trying to warm you up."

He'd certainly done _that_. Jemma felt as though she was on fire with the red flush spreading over her entire body. She was lying practically on top of him, her hands fisted in his sweater, his hands resting lightly on her hips – _oh God_, tilting her against what she could tell was a _very_ impressive erection.

"This is totally inappropriate," she tried to say severely, but her voice came out breathy and light.

"Is it?" Remy grinned to himself at the effect he was having on Jemma. She looked adorable, her hair tangled, a slight crease on her cheek from where it had pressed on the seam at his shoulder. He really had intended just to take her in his arms to warm her, but as soon as he'd eased onto the bed beside her she'd practically crawled on top of him and clung on like a limpet, instinctively seeking his warmth.

"Well, I won't crawl into your bed again then, _chère_."

"That's not what I meant!" Jemma hastily said, and then wanted to kick herself again at his smirk. "Okay, let's start again. Remy, _why_ are you in my room _right now_?"

The way she said his name did strange things to his insides. "So logical, _ma belle_," he murmured, evading the question. "What a shame. I was hoping for something more along the lines of _Oh Remy, I'm so glad you're here_, followed by an enthusiastic greeting." He pursed his lips. "Well, the greeting wasn't _too_ bad, once I'd, ah, _persuaded_ you not to scream."

Jemma glared at him, trying not to notice how the pout did wonderful things for his sensual mouth. Trying not to think about how that mouth would feel all over her body. "Let's get one thing clear." She was still annoyed with the breathy sound of her voice, so she made her words harsher than she otherwise might have. "I'm not some silly girl who's going to swoon over your pretty face. I'm a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent."

"I don't want a silly, swooning girl," he flipped them suddenly, so she was lying on her back, him leaning over her, though not crushing her with his weight. Jemma let out a gasp and clutched at him, fisting her fingers in his sweater. "I _know_ who you are, Jemma Simmons. Brilliant bio-scientist, four advanced degrees, youngest ever graduate from the S.H.I.E.L.D. Tech Academy, clever and creative beyond belief. A brave woman who would sacrifice her own life rather then put her team in danger when she accidentally contracted a dangerous extra-terrestrial virus."

_He knew_. Jemma sucked in a shocked breath. How could he _possibly_ know about _that_? She stared into his eyes. They were dark, a deep chocolaty brown, but in the centre of the pupils – yes, she could definitely see a reddish glow there.

"I hardly know anything about you except Coulson says you're terribly dangerous," she admitted in a small, slightly frightened voice.

"Yes, my file in the Asset Register is pretty thin. Peggy agreed to keep it that way," Remy agreed with a slight smile.

"How old _are_ you?" Jemma couldn't resist asking. There wasn't a line on that perfectly chiselled face.

Remy sighed, sat up against the wall and pulled her gently to sit by him, tucking covers around her to keep her warm. Jemma hesitated only a moment before leaning against him, putting her head on his shoulder. If he wanted to hurt her, he could have done so at any moment and there was absolutely nothing anyone could have done about it. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard Coulson's voice telling her not to put her trust in Remy too quickly, but she resolutely pushed it aside. For now.

"I was born in 1952, Jemma."

"So you're not human," she said, desperately trying to keep her voice level.

"Yes, I am. Or I used to be. I'm as human as Captain America, how's that? Have you ever heard of the Weapon Plus program?"

That tickled something at the back of Jemma's brain. She thought for a moment, pinning it down. "I think I have, actually. Now that you mentioned Captain America – wasn't he Weapon One? There were a series of failed experiments after that, but nothing worked."

"Did it not, indeed," there was a faint laugh in his voice. "_Merde_, but S.H.I.E.L.D. even lie to their own scientists about it. Those who do not learn from their mistakes are doomed to repeat them, eh? Like this Centipede nonsense."

Jemma blinked several times. "Wait. You're saying that the super-soldier program didn't stop after Erskine's death?"

"What do _you_ think? If you were alive then, working on the project, and you saw how successful it was with Steve Rogers – would _you_ have stopped just because one scientist was killed?"

"No," she whispered, realising that of course he was right. You didn't shut down a program that successful without at least _trying_ to make it work again. "So _that's_ how you knew Peggy Carter. It was an SSR program."

"No," he sighed and hugged her tighter. "I'm afraid not. It was taken out of the SSR's hands." His smile when she looked up at him, was rather twisted. "If it had been SSR, they wouldn't have used me."

"I don't understand," Jemma confessed.

"Steve Rogers was the lucky one, Jemma. He volunteered. I wasn't given that option."

"No!" she twisted around, onto her knees, to look at him directly. "Not really?" she was almost pleading.

Remy's smile twisted even further, became even darker. "Curiously enough, they had trouble finding volunteers even from the military after the first few hundred horrible deaths. The Weapon Plus bosses took to conscription. Those who wouldn't be missed. Criminals, orphans and the like. I was both." Taking in her open mouth and shocked expression, he tried to lighten the tone. "Have you seen the movie _Oliver_, or read the Dickens tale? Imagine me as a Cajun version of the Artful Dodger, the best thief on the New Orleans docks. A troublesome brat no one would ever miss."

"How old were you?" Jemma whispered, horrified.

"Seven."

"Oh dear God, _no_." Her hands flew to her mouth in horror. "They experimented on _children_?"

"The _children_ were the ones who survived. Perhaps we were more adaptable than the adults, who knows? But the experiments weren't reliable. The results couldn't be replicated, we all gained different skills and abilities, and most of us proved _very_ resistant to being controlled."

"How many?" Jemma couldn't help but ask.

"I honestly can't be sure. We were kept in different facilities. And when my powers fully manifested – they couldn't hold me. I left, taking Wade, Jean, Scott and Warren with me. We," he grinned slightly, "_disagreed_ about how to proceed. I struck out on my own. I ran across Peggy Carter a few years later, when trying to smash up a different Weapon Plus facility. She offered me help and resources, no strings attached. I accepted."

Jemma was trying to process everything he'd told her. "Coulson wouldn't tell me anything about your known associates," she said carefully, "those names you mentioned…?"

His face closed off slightly. "Ah, _chère_, those aren't my stories to tell. One day, you'll meet them, perhaps. There are very few people I trust to have my back in this world. Those four are among the few."

Jemma could only imagine. Taken and tortured as a child – and he'd have been an untrusting, wary child too, as an orphaned thief – probably pursued and feared for the abilities he'd developed, Remy was undoubtedly a loner, used to depending on no one but himself. Even if she could come to trust him, how could _he_ ever possibly trust _her_?

"Remy," she whispered, extending a hand to his cheek. "I'm so sorry."

He grabbed her hand in his and pressed his lips to it. "I thought I'd be Unmarked my whole life, thought that after they changed me, I'd never get a soulmark. And then twenty-seven years ago, the words burned themselves into my arm one night. I've been looking for you since. Ten days ago, in New Orleans, the cards finally showed me when and where to find you."

"The card you posted me was kind of spooky," she admitted.

"I had to warn you off. Your little hacker friend was going to start digging in places that would have drawn very unwelcome attention." He turned her hand over, started placing delicate kisses on the inside of her wrist. "I couldn't risk you. I _won't_ risk you, _ma dame de cœur_."

Jemma was finding it hard to breathe again, with the way Remy was looking at her, his lips hot on her wrist as he placed delicately sensual kisses there. He pushed her sleeve up to get at more of her arm and she realised, suddenly, that she was sitting there in ducky-print flannel pyjamas with her hair all over the place. She'd probably never looked less sexy in her life.

_ma dame de cœur _– my Queen of Hearts. And yes, I know the word for Queen is _Reine_, but _dame_ is specifically used when referring to cards. Pronouced _dahm_, not _daym_, as Steve or Bucky might call a girl!

**Next chapter; ok, I can't resist. And neither can Jemma. We'll be going up to M-rated.**

**Wade= Wade Wilson (Deadpool)**

**Jean = Jean Grey**

**Scott = Scott Summers (Cyclops)**

**Warren = Warren Worthington (Angel)**

**Because I'm fitting this into the MCU and the X-Men don't technically exist there, I've created an alternative beginning for them, without making them all Inhumans like Skye – though some of them are, specifically Xavier and Wolverine in my headcanon because their births predate the Weapon Plus program by too many years. It does totes fits into a version of comic canon, BTW, though obviously it changes a lot of backstories. The younger generation of mutants are children of the survivors of the Weapon Plus program that created Remy and the others.**

**Some or all of the mutants I've just mentioned may make an appearance in this story at some point ;-)**


	5. You Want Me To Leave?

**Chapter Five – You Want Me To Leave?**

_Goo Goo Dolls – All That You Are_

"I'm not – Remy…" Jemma ran her free hand through her hair, trying desperately to flatten it, realising suddenly that this was very much not in her plan for how she'd hoped the day might go. She'd chosen a flattering outfit and had planned to put on light makeup, do her hair nicely, and generally _not_ be caught in unflattering, bulky flannel ducky-print pyjamas.

"Not what?" he glanced up at her, his lips still poised over her wrist.

"I just – I – I didn't expect to wake up with you in my bed. And now you've told me quite a lot of things I'll need some time to process."

"I see." Gently, he lowered her hand. "You want me to leave?"

"No! Yes – maybe?"

"Not feeling very decisive, _chère_?" he teased, that little smirk curling his lips again.

"Oh stop," Jemma couldn't help but smile back. "You know you're having – a certain physiological effect on me."

"Am I?" he glanced down at her breasts. Even through the thick fabric, her nipples were clearly visible. "Is it affecting your thought process, _ma belle_ Jemma?"

Every time he said her name in that thick accent, she turned into a puddle of goo. It was the way he softened the hard J to a soft sort of _zh_ sound. _Zhemma_. And every time he used one of those French endearments, she just wanted – well, she just _wanted_.

"You want me to go, Jemma?" Remy asked, watching her eyes. Truly, he hadn't quite expected her to be as welcoming as she had been, when she woke in his arms. Perhaps part of him had _wanted_ her to push him away, tell him he was a freak, that he wasn't good enough. That she didn't want him. It would have been the perfect reason for him to walk away, to carry on believing that he was irretrievably damaged.

Instead she was sitting there staring at him from soft hazel eyes, her small hand soft in his large rough one. "Do you want me to go?" he pressed softly. "I will if that's what you want."

She blushed. "Coulson would probably catch you doing the walk of shame and assume, well, you know."

"Any man who could feel shame, being caught leaving _your_ bed, is no man. I'll walk out of here proud as a peacock," Remy teased.

"Remy!" her blush deepened. "You haven't… we didn't…"

"No," he said, softly, regretfully. "We didn't." He lifted her fingers to his lips again. "You're not ready, are you?"

Jemma looked away shyly, unable to meet his eyes, and he sighed. "It's all right, _chère_. I understand. I am – well, it's a lot to take in, what I am, isn't it?"

"Didn't you _know_ this would happen?" Jemma couldn't help but ask. "The thing with the cards, you know?"

"It's not that accurate, least so when trying to look into my own future," he shook his head, slipping out of her bed, stooping to pick up his boots and yanking them on. "For twenty-seven years, all I've been getting is glimpses of a beautiful woman in a red dress. I only caught tiny scraps past our initial meeting, enough to send you the warning for your hacker friend to back off." He shrugged into a long black leather coat, picked up the hat he'd obviously discarded on her dresser.

"I saw you sending me away. I hoped I was wrong." His eyes met hers. "Beyond that, there's nothing. Not for us."

Jemma's mouth fell open. "What are you saying? That if you go, we're – _over_?"

"No!" he startled. "No, just that I can't _see_ anything. I don't know what your decisions will be." Remy took a deep breath, gave her a strangely vulnerable look. "I have – there's a power in my voice, I can compel people, sometimes, but it doesn't work on you. I can't _make_ you want me." He'd tried. He was ashamed to admit it to himself, to her, but he _had_ tried. She hadn't even _noticed_. As his soulmate, apparently, she was immune to his power.

"You think I don't want you?" Jemma looked astonished.

"Why would you? I told you what I am. I'm a fucked-up, involuntary, _failed_ military experiment. I'm a thief and a gambler, and I don't doubt that Coulson told you I'm a killer. My eyes burn with the hellfire I'm surely destined for. What could I possibly offer a woman as amazing as you?"

She scrambled out of bed, reached him even as he twisted the doorhandle, grabbed his arm. "Remy! What you have to offer – is the other half of my _soul_."

He froze at that, staring at the door, hardly able to breathe. Certainly not able to turn and face her. "You believe that? After everything I just told you?"

"_Because_ of everything you just told me," she said firmly. "Because my marks didn't appear on you until long _after_ you were changed into Gambit."

The corner of his mouth quirked as she used the code name. Of course Peggy would have put it in his file. Turning slowly, he looked down at Jemma. Distantly, he noticed that his hands were shaking as he lifted them, slid them into her hair, framing her delicate face in his large palms. She was lovely, this slim woman who owned the other half of his soul, though he suspected she didn't truly realise it.

"Jemma," he said softly, drawing her a little closer.

She gulped. "You said you saw me sending you away. What – if I _don't_? Does that muck up the whole future?"

"I told you; if you send me away I don't know if we _have_ a future."

"Then you'd better stay."

His eyes widened, staring at her; did she mean what he thought – hoped – she did? She gave a funny little gulp and then lifted her hands, starting to unbutton her pyjama top.

"You don't have to do this." He tried, very hard, to keep his eyes on hers, but it was difficult as the heavy fabric parted, revealing soft pale flesh to his hungry gaze.

"I know. But I want to." The last button slipped free, and Jemma shrugged the top off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Remy stared helplessly. So beautiful, small pretty breasts with plump pink nipples, soft curves to her slender waist.

"Jemma," he breathed it out, gazing at her. "_Tu es très belle, mon ange, je t'adore_…"

The fact that he'd apparently lost his ability to speak in English melted her completely. Jemma reached up and took his hat off, tossing it back to her dresser, reached to push his coat off his shoulders. He shrugged it off eagerly, careless of it falling to the floor, yanked his sweater off too when she tugged impatiently at the hem.

Jemma sucked in a startled breath. Remy was clearly solidly built, broad-shouldered and the sweater had clung lovingly to his chest, outlining his pectoral muscles – but he was muscled like an Olympic swimmer, every perfectly defined muscle rippling as he moved.

_Shirtless Remy_

_okay, stop drooling and carry on reading…_

"_Wow_," Jemma stared, and he smiled, clearly pleased by her reaction, even as he threw his sweater aside and reached for her, big hands settling on her waist.

"_Je suis tout à toi_," Remy whispered huskily, then shook his head angrily as though to clear it. "Jemma – I cannot think when you are here before me like this, so beautiful."

"Don't think, then," a little shyly, she ran her fingers up his muscled biceps, across his shoulders. He shuddered and let out a moan as her fingertips traced the hollows of his collarbone. His hands moved, thumbs sliding up over her stomach, drawing small circles on the underside of her breasts.

Jemma shivered and Remy suddenly realised that she was probably cold: the energy burning inside him meant he never noticed the cold, but her nipples were stiff and he hadn't even touched them yet. Gently he eased her back towards the bed, bending his head to taste her lips as he lowered her to the mattress and brought his body slowly down on hers, giving her every opportunity to push him away if she wanted to. Instead she ran one hand into his long hair at the nape of his neck and scratched her fingernails into his scalp, startling a low moan of need from him.

His skin felt furnace-hot under her fingers and Jemma greedily sought his warmth, pressing herself against him, pulling him close. Her nipples chafed against the light sprinkling of his chest hair and she was the one who moaned then, at the stimulation. Remy made a small hungry sound against her lips and started to kiss down her throat. Slowly, delicately, his hands traced circles on her breasts, coming ever closer to her aching, peaked nipples as he licked and teased at the soft flesh below her ear.

It had been a long time, for Jemma, since she'd last let a man touch her. And Remy's touch was a whole new ballgame, tiny sparks of energy from his fingertips making her gasp and shudder as they skated lightly over her nipples.

"Please," she choked out as his lips travelled slowly south, his long hair flopping against her chest as he rubbed very slightly scratchy stubble over sensitised skin. "Remy… ahhhh!" his lips closed over one pouting, aching nipple and he drew on it in a long, slow suck.

Of course, that was the moment when Skye knocked on the door and called her name.

_Je suis tout à toi_ – I'm all yours

_Tu es très belle, mon ange, je t'adore_ – You're so beautiful, my angel, I adore you

**Incidentally, I had a couple of people comment laughingly about Bobbi's mark on Hunter, the **_**You asshole, I needed him alive!**_** which he flaunts on his collarbones. My headcanon is that his mark is on her butt and says **_**You're welcome, darlin'**_**. I might write the story of that sometime…**


	6. Could This Get Any More Embarrassing?

**Chapter Six – Could This Get Any More Embarrassing?**

_James Blunt – You're Beautiful_

**Note: I got SLIGHTLY carried away with the French in this chapter. It is the language of love, after all! Translations at the bottom.**

**This is **_**definitely**_** M Rated now. Don't say I didn't warn you.**

"Jemma, you awake?" Skye called, rapping on the door.

Jemma froze, staring at Remy from wide, alarmed eyes. "Does anyone know you're here?" she whispered.

He shook his head, lips curling in a wicked, teasing smile as he flicked his tongue out to swirl around her nipple.

Jemma spared a moment to wonder how the hell he'd got into the Playground unobserved, but really her brain wasn't working too well right then and she just couldn't bring herself to care.

"Go away, Skye, I'm sleeping," she called, trying to make her voice sound lethargic. It went up into a squeak at the end of the sentence as Remy bit lightly at her nipple. She bucked under him, unable to help herself.

"Lazybones, get up, I thought you wanted me to help with your hair and makeup so you look all pretty for loverboy?"

_Oh my God, could this GET any more embarrassing?_ Remy arched a laughing eyebrow as Jemma's face flamed.

"I think – an extra hour – of beauty sleep would probably help more than makeup," she managed to get out, though she was sure her voice sounded really weird. It had good reason to. Remy was suckling on her nipple again, his talented, warm fingertips tweaking the other, pinching and squeezing lightly. Jemma had to close her eyes at the sight and bite down hard on her tongue to avoid letting out a loud moan.

"Jemma, get up, what if he turns up early?" Skye rattled the doorknob. Jemma panicked. She never locked the door – but thank God, apparently Remy had locked it when he came in, because the handle turned but the door didn't open.

"Skye, _go away_!"

Remy was smirking against her breast, and then he blew cool air over her nipple and licked it immediately after. Jemma absolutely could not refrain from moaning.

"Jemma?" the tone of Skye's voice changed, and Jemma cursed how damned perceptive her friend was. "Are you alone?"

If she said yes, Skye would demand to be let in. And if she said no… Skye would probably shake the door off its hinges. Jemma dithered over what to do. And Remy really didn't help, sliding down over her, kissing and licking his way across her stomach, easing the waistband of her pyjama pants down with those warm, strong fingers. Jemma sucked in a breath as his tongue dipped and swirled in her navel.

"I'm gonna take that as a no, Jemma. You've got ten seconds to give me your safe word before bad shit goes down." Skye's voice had gone calm and cold.

"_Landscaping_!" Jemma shouted.

Remy went very still against her. She gave him a puzzled look, surprised to see that he looked suddenly angry.

"Okay. You've got one hour, and then you'd better rock up to my office, or you'll be explaining yourself to Coulson."

"Bossy," Jemma muttered at the door as Skye's footsteps receded down the hall. "What is it?" she asked Remy, who still looked angry.

"You and she are lovers?"

"_No!_ What gave you _that_ idea?" Jemma's mouth fell open with shock.

"The safe word, _ma petite_. Is that not something lovers do?"

"Oh," Jemma shook her head. "No, well, I can't say_ I _ever have! It's a code for within S.H.I.E.L.D., if it's ever suspected that something is 'not right' you ask for a safe word. It's just a word that wouldn't come up in normal conversation. We have two each; the real safe word and the 'I'm being coerced' safe word."

"Which one did you just give her?"

"The real one." She sat up, spearing her fingers into his dark hair, pulling him closer for a kiss. "There's nothing happening here that's not by my own choice, Remy." He still looked unsettled, and Jemma came to a sudden realisation. "Oh my God, you were _jealous_."

Remy suddenly felt very foolish. Of course Jemma was unlikely to be a virgin; in this day and age even 'good girls' rarely waited for their soulmates. He'd raged at the Fates for not letting him find her sooner once he saw how physically mature, how beautiful she was; how the other men in the bar had followed her with their eyes, licking their lips and speculating about her talents in bed. Because he wanted her to be his. _Only_ his.

"Yes," he growled finally. "_Yes_, I was jealous. I've been jealous since the moment you walked in the bar in that fuck-me red dress, _chère_, jealous of the way other men look at you. _Tu es à moi, seulement à moi – je tuerai quiconque te touchera…"_

She understood enough to know that he was being a possessive ass. But the simple fact that he was speaking in French, not English, looking at her so heatedly as he growled out the words in his husky voice, was enough to completely disarm her righteous outrage.

"Don't stop talking," Jemma said weakly, quite aware of the fact that she had just handed him an absolutely massive weapon to use against her.

Surprised, Remy blinked. He'd half expected her to slap his face for his old-fashioned, possessive attitude. And then he saw the way her pupils had dilated, her breathing coming fast, the soft scent of her arousal teasing his sensitive nose, poised above her as he was. Surely she couldn't like it when he acted like that? _Oh_ – she'd said _don't stop talking_…

"_J'ai l'impression que tu aimes quand je parle français_," he whispered, lowering his mouth to her stomach again. "_N'est-ce pas, ma chérie_?" He pulled gently at the waistband of her pyjamas, enormously encouraged when she lifted her hips eagerly to let him pull then down. He nuzzled lower, into soft brown curls, shifting to remove her pyjamas completely.

"_Ravissante_," he murmured softly, easing to lie on his stomach and lifting one of her thighs over his shoulder, pushing his hair behind his ears so it didn't get in his way. "_Délicieux_…"

"Remy," Jemma shivered as his hot tongue flicked lightly, tasting her, nudging at the hood of her clit.

"You want this?" he reverted to English, checking. "Tell me you want this, Jemma, because I don't think I could bear it if you told me to stop now."

"Oh God, yes," she trembled, a small whining noise coming from her throat. "Please, Remy…"

His name on her lips in that breathy tone pushed him over the edge. He dived in, licking eagerly, exploring her slick folds, rejoicing in how wet she was, the clear evidence that her body, at least, responded to him. Jemma's fingers came down to press into his hair, scratching at his scalp, making him growl against her and grind his hips into the mattress, the pressure doing nothing to relieve his need. He concentrated on satisfying hers instead, sliding his hands up her inner thighs, pressing both thumbs just below her entrance.

Lying back on the piled pillows at the head of her bed, Jemma watched though half-closed eyes as Remy ate her out, making sounds of enjoyment, his eyes occasionally flicking up to hers. She couldn't even find it in herself to be concerned about the hellish red glow of his pupils, that was definitely getting brighter. He was outrageously good with his tongue, and then his hands came to join the party, his thumbs pressing and teasing lightly before he edged them both into her at the same time, his fingers curling under her ass to lift her slightly, improve the angle he was working at.

Jemma made an incoherent, low sound; he looked up at her, saw her eyes closed, her head tossing from side to side on the pillow, her soft mouth open as she moaned. Her breasts heaved as she panted, and Remy promised himself that after he'd made her come, he was going to spend a good deal of time getting thoroughly acquainted with those beautiful breasts, teasing and caressing until she begged him to take her.

"Oh yes, just like that, ohhhh," Jemma could feel it coming, feeling the prickling warmth that started at the base of her spine, crawled across her skin. Her thigh muscles tensed.

Remy moaned as Jemma came, her clit pulsing under his tongue, slick walls tightening around his thumbs. He pressed the flat of his tongue against her clit, holding it there until she started to come down, going limp under him with a deep sigh.

"So good," Jemma gasped. "Thank you…"

He chuckled against her, pressed a final kiss to her clit, making her jump, and started kissing his way back up across her stomach. "Don't thank me, _mon ange_. The pleasure was all mine, I assure you."

"It certainly wasn't," that was definitely one of the best orgasms Jemma had ever had. The aftershocks were still rippling through her; she gasped as he latched onto her nipple again, tugging lightly with his teeth before sucking hard. The sensation seemed to go straight back to her groin again, and she arched unconsciously, pushing her hips up against him, wrapping her legs around his torso.

Her heels rubbed on his ass, and Jemma suddenly realised Remy was still wearing his jeans. "Off," she pushed at a pocket with her heel. "Off, take them off!"

"You sure about that, _chère_?" He lifted his head, hair falling across his eyes. He swiped it away impatiently, looking at her intently. "Because if I take these off, I'm going to fuck you."

She swallowed, suddenly nervous. "That was kind of why I asked."

"Jemma," he closed his eyes for a moment, pressed his forehead to her chest. "_Tu me rends fou_."

She understood that one. "The feeling's mutual. Get undressed, Remy."

"I can deny you nothing, you know that, don't you?" He pressed his hands down on either side of her, pushed himself up until he was kneeling, unfastened his belt. Jemma watched avidly, only slightly startled when he reached for her hand, pressing it over the impressively solid bulge at his groin. "Do you feel that, Jemma? Feel how much I want you?"

"I want you too," she panted, unbearably turned on as her fingers traced the thick shape of him behind the denim. "How – how would I say that in French?"

"_J'ai aussi envie de toi_," he murmured obligingly, guessing correctly was that what she meant was _say that to me in French_. Her hazel eyes glazed, her hands suddenly busy working at the buttons of his jeans. "_J'ai tellement envie de toi,_ Jemma, _tu n'imagines pas_…"

She spread the denim, staring unabashedly. He was beautiful, thick and uncut, standing proud from a nest of dark brown curls. He dropped a hand and curled it around himself unselfconsciously, giving one smooth quick jerk. A drop of pre-cum beaded at the tip.

"I didn't expect this, Jemma, didn't expect us to end up here today – do you have protection?"

She nodded, waving a vague hand at the bedside table, unable to stop staring.

Remy pushed away the instant feeling of jealous rage – why would Jemma have condoms? – _she bought them for you, Remy, tell yourself that_ – and scrambled off the bed, kicking out of his boots and socks, stripping off his jeans, before opening the drawer. His eyebrows went up with surprise.

"_Qu'est que c'est?_"

_**J'ai besoin de toi**_** – I need you**

_**ma petite**_** – my little one**

_**Tu es à moi, seulement à moi **_**– You are mine, only mine**

_**je tuerai quiconque te toucheras**_** – I will kill anyone else who touches you**

_**J'ai l'impression que tu aimes quand je parle français**_** – I think you like it when I speak French**

_**N'est-ce pas, ma chérie**_** – isn't that right, darling?**

_**Ravissante**_** – ravishing(ly beautiful) **

_**Délicieux**_** – delicious**

_**Tu me rends fou**_** – you drive me crazy**

_**J'ai envie de toi, en plus**_** – I want (to have sex with) you, too**

_**J'ai tellement envie de toi,**__**tu n'imagines pas**_** – I want you so much, you can't imagine**

_**Qu'est que c'est?**_** – what's that?**

**Whatever could have caught Remy's interest in that drawer?**

**Check in tomorrow to find out…**

**Je suis la Reine de la Smuthanger, n'est-ce pas?**

**(and just a warning. This French is very colloquial, between two people intimate with each other, and some of it is VERY RUDE. Don't say I didn't warn you if you get your face slapped).**


	7. That's Mine

**Chapter Seven – That's Mine!**

_INXS – Devil Inside_

"Oh my God," the sensual fog permeating Jemma's mind suddenly cleared as she saw Remy's teasing grin, and realised just what would have been on the top in the drawer. "That's mine!"

"I should hope so too, _chère_," he lifted out the vibrator, measuring it in his hand. "Hmm. This is the size you're used to?"

"Please could you put that back and forget you ever saw it?" Jemma hastily turned over and buried her flaming face in the pillow, trying to hide her embarrassment. _Why oh why do I always end up making a complete fool of myself in front of him?_

"Oh no, I don't think so," she could hear the wicked amusement in his voice, and then one large hand was smoothing down her back, stroking her buttocks lightly, parting her legs and dipping to stroke between them. "Your little toy isn't as big as I am, Jemma. I don't want to hurt you – so I'll use it to get you ready for me."

It certainly _wasn't_ as big as Remy. Jemma doubted they _made_ vibrators as big as Remy's cock. She'd definitely had a few nervous thoughts after her first sight of it. He eased onto the bed beside her, pressing a large, warm hand on the small of her back to hold her still.

"You stay there, _chère_," Remy practically purred it. "Gonna make you feel _real_ good." He teased the vibrator around her entrance; she was already thoroughly wet from his mouth and her own juices, so he wouldn't need lube. She let out a throaty moan that went straight to his cock, making him harden still further.

"But," Jemma remembered something. "I think – batteries might be dead." She'd put the vibrator to quite significant use over the last couple of days, thinking of Remy and the way he'd looked at her. _Oh God please don't let him ask why the batteries are dead…_

Remy laughed quietly. "Don't worry about that."

"Huh? _Uhnff_," as the vibrator was suddenly working at full power, sending thrumming pulses through her walls as he slipped it inside her. "Oh God. _Oh God_. Aaaah!" It was too quick, too intense a sensation on already aroused nerves. She bucked against Remy's hand in the small of her back, and he eased back, giving her a moment to catch her breath before drilling in again, expertly manipulating the vibrator inside her, flicking his fingertips over her throbbing, swollen clit at the same time.

Jemma screamed into the pillow, aware that she needed to keep her voice down but only able to muffle the sounds as she came violently. Overstimulated, she almost sobbed, shuddering violently as she came back down, Remy slipping the vibrator from her gently.

Vaguely, Jemma heard the rustling as he opened the box of condoms Skye had handed her yesterday with a grin and a wink. She couldn't even _move_ just then, quivering and panting as tiny aftershocks rippled through her. And then he was easing a hand under her hip, rolling her gently to her side, drawing her against him gently, resting her head on his shoulder. Her hand came up instinctively, settled on his ribs.

"So beautiful," Remy murmured, sliding a hand under Jemma's knee, lifting it over his hip. "So passionate, so sensitive, _mon ange_, _oh_ _mon Dieu_," he completely lost his ability to think and speak in English again as the tip of his sheathed erection slipped into Jemma's hot, slick passage. "_Je te veux tellement,_ Jemma, _c'est si bon_!"

Jemma moaned as Remy slid slowly deeper, digging her fingernails into his ribs. He was muttering brokenly in French, his hand on her hip pulling her against him. She looked up at him and he reached to kiss her, tongue flicking across her lips until she parted them and let him in, his hot tongue licking erotically into her mouth. She could feel her internal muscles grabbing greedily at him as he eased inside her, her passage slowly stretching to accommodate him in a very pleasurable way.

"Remy!" Jemma tore her mouth from his as his groin pressed against hers, and he shifted slightly to his back, pulling her further over his body, driving a little deeper again. "Oh God. Please, that's it – so good, just _there_…" She looked up at his eyes, but they were closed, his sensual lips parted as he breathed fast, hips beginning to rock against her as he pumped slowly in and out.

He'd somehow managed to achieve the perfect angle to put pressure on her G-spot, and Jemma was utterly helpless against the rising waves of pleasure coursing through her yet again. She put her forehead on Remy's shoulder, moaned his name, felt rather than heard his husky groan in response.

"_Oui_, Jemma, _jouis pour moi, s'il te plait_," Remy begged frantically; she felt too good, he couldn't hold out. She pressed her face against his throat and keened wordlessly; he thrust harder, feeling the orgasm rising through his body. He gritted his teeth against the pleasure and _focussed_, drawing Jemma into his energy field.

Jemma let out an astonished scream as heat seemed suddenly to flash through her body. Her eyes were closed, but she could swear she saw purple lightning behind her closed lids – or maybe it was just the amazing, spectacular orgasm she achieved as Remy surged hotly inside her, groaning her name deep in his chest.

"_Mon Dieu_, Jemma," he whispered against her hair a few moments later.

"Quite," she gasped back, lying limply splayed across him. One of his big hands was stroking gently from the nape of her neck down to the small of her back, gently smoothing downwards. It took a few moments for her brain to kick back into gear, and then her scientific curiosity could be restrained no longer. "What _was_ that? What did you do?" She lifted her head and looked at him.

He didn't meet her eyes. "I _hope_ I just gave you the best sex of your life, _mon ange_," he purred softly, reaching to kiss her.

Jemma let him kiss her for a few moments. And then she bit his lower lip sharply, making him start and pull back. "If this is going to work, Remy, you're going to have to be honest with me," she told him firmly.

He flinched, and then met her eyes with a sigh. She managed to restrain her instinct to scream with a huge effort, because his eyes were _glowing_ red on black, and some primal part of her brain just wanted to scream _Monster!_ and cower with terror.

"It's part of what I am, _chère_. At the moment of crisis, I – lose control of part of my power. I have to _let go_ of part of it, spread it into you, or it would be, let's say, _uncomfortable_ for you. Possibly very painful."

"You put some of your power into me?" It was a slightly horrifying thought, considering those burning eyes.

"Not exactly. More that I brought you into me, enclosed you within it." His smile was wry, a little sad. "The first time at least, you shouldn't notice any major effects."

"The _first_ time?"

He sighed, eased himself out of her and stood gracefully, heading for her tiny bathroom. He was quite unselfconscious about his nudity – _mind you if I was built like that I'd flaunt my body too_, Jemma thought – returning after flushing the condom and washing his hands. He looked down at where she'd snuggled into her blankets, grinned and reclined comfortably on the uncovered part of the bed.

She couldn't help staring, but she wouldn't be distracted. "What did you mean by _the first time_, Remy? That implies that you know there will be a different result another time…"

"My clever scientist," he said fondly, reaching to smooth back her tangled hair. "I'll answer your questions, _chère_, but you have to understand I've been studied, poked and prodded at, far more than I ever wanted. My power isn't easily defined; you cannot fit me into your neat scientific equations."

She nodded to show that she understood – he wouldn't be her lab rat – but she also met his eyes, determined. "Tell me."

"I do not sleep."

It seemed an odd place to start, but as he continued, Jemma began, slowly, to understand.

"The human body needs sleep to regenerate, to recuperate, _oui_? I do not need that. There is energy inside me; I have learned to control, to manipulate it externally, but _inside_ me, it regenerates my cells, restores my strength. I don't get tired, Jemma. I don't need to hit the gym to maintain these muscles. The energy – I call it my _chi_, for want of a better word – has determined that this is the proper, most effective form for my body, and that is that. Since my early twenties, when my power came to full maturity, I have not aged at all, so far as I am able to determine."

Jemma stared, mouth agape. She'd _seen_ how much work it took to maintain muscle mass like Remy's; Hunter, Bobbi and the other 'action' agents spent significant portions of their downtime in the gym. "That's…" she couldn't come up with a word. _Impossible_ was clearly incorrect. "… implausible?"

That wry, crooked grin returned to his face. "I know. You'll see. I do need to eat, quite a lot actually, to maintain my internal reserves."

"Okay," she said uncertainly after mulling it over for a minute. "I can sort of understand. Your body's just processing energy in a different way to the rest of us."

"If you want to put it that way." He shrugged, and Jemma's eyes were drawn helplessly to his shoulders and chest.

"God bless energy, I say," she muttered under her breath, but he clearly heard her because he laughed.

"You are pleased with the way I look, Jemma?" She blushed and looked away, but he speared a hand into her hair and pulled her to him for a slow, heated kiss that left her breathing quickly, face even more flushed than before. "Good. Because you're so fucking beautiful you steal my breath, _mon ange_."

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Jemma pulled back. "Tell me about what the energy will do to me, Remy."

He sighed, ran his hands through his own long shaggy locks. Gave her a slightly sheepish look she didn't understand until he spoke again. "You understand I am a lot older than I look, I have been waiting for you a long time…"

"Oh," she realised what he was getting at. "Yes, Remy, I'm well aware that there have no doubt been plenty of women in your bed before me. I'm not going to be annoyed about it, don't be ridiculous, I hardly expect you to have been celibate when you've lived over half your life without a soulmark and plenty more knowing I was just a child!"

He grinned, ducking his head. "Yes. Well, there's been no one I've been truly serious about, I've never been married or anything like that. Frankly – well, it's hard for me to hide what I am, with my eyes. Contacts don't cover them. Most women freak out. Consequently, my past _liaisons_ have not been long-lasting."

Jemma considered what he was getting at. "So you're saying you don't _know_ what long-term effects there are?"

"Yes," Remy said in relief as she found the words he was struggling to explain. "_Exactement_."

"Okay. What about short-term effects, then?"

He sighed, thinking. He'd never truly had to explain this to anyone before. "How do you feel?"

"Well, good," Jemma blushed again. "Great, actually… oh," now that she really thought about it, she should probably have a certain ache in her hips and thighs, a lethargy to her body, and she really didn't. She felt refreshed, almost buzzing, like she'd just downed a couple of cans of energy drink.

"Bringing you into my energy field, your body will have absorbed a certain amount," Remy murmured, reaching to smooth her hair back. "I don't know if you will _see_ any physical changes, but you will feel them. You will feel strong, energised, at least until the energy burns off."

"And how long will that take?" Jemma's scientific brain was in full gear now, she desperately wanted to take notes. Remy might be very much disinclined to be a lab rat, but she could certainly run tests on _herself_.

"A few hours," Remy said, smiling at her eager expression. "Or until I charge you back up again."

Jemma blinked at his teasing grin. "That's an interesting euphemism for having sex."

He threw his head back and roared with laughter. Pink-cheeked, Jemma wrapped a blanket around her and headed for the bathroom, her nose in the air. "I'm going for a shower. That hour Skye gave me is nearly up."

"Ah," Remy sighed, stretched. "Do I have to come and make nice with your friends?"

She paused, just before closing the bathroom door, looked back at him. It was such a good view she forgot for a moment what she wanted to say, but then it came back to her. "I was kind of hoping that you would. They're – well, they're like family. Fitz is my other soulmate…"

He shot upright, eyes wide. "You have a _second soulmate_?"

"A platonic one!" she lifted her foot, turned it to show him the silvery lettering on the sole.

"_Mon Dieu_, Jemma!" Remy collapsed back to lie down, placing a hand over his hammering heart. "Do not frighten me like that!" He considered. "Fitz is the boy who was with you at the bar?"

"He's not a _boy_," Jemma said indignantly. "He's the same age as me and he's my _best friend_."

Remy, seeing her annoyance, sat up and looked respectful. "I see. My apologies, I meant no insult. I've lived a long time, Jemma; he looked very young."

That was true. Fitz did look younger than he really was. It suddenly occurred to Jemma that Remy was older than _Coulson_, despite his youthful features. She just about boggled at the thought. This was going to be a very interesting morning. She shook her head and closed the door, reaching for her toothbrush.

Remy was dressed again when she came out, and had even made her bed. Seated upon it, he was obviously amusing himself by doing card tricks, the cards flickering between his long fingers in an amazing display of dexterity. Jemma tried not to be distracted as she chose clothes and dressed quickly, but he was doing tricks she suspected David Blaine would be hard-pressed to match.

"Ready?" Remy had been forced to do the tricks to distract himself from Jemma, from the tantalising little glimpses of flesh revealed as she slipped into her clothes. Seeing her step into flat shoes, though, he gathered the cards and slipped them into his pocket, standing to reach for his hat and tipping it forward to shade his eyes.

Jemma surprised him by reaching for the hat and taking it off. "You don't need to hide your eyes here, Remy," she told him quietly. "The whole team has read your file; what Peggy Carter wrote about you, though from what you've told me already I can tell she didn't have the whole story. Don't hide yourself from us. It won't help with earning their trust."

He hesitated, looking at her for a long moment, knowing his eyes would be burning particularly bright right now after their lovemaking. It was the one aspect of his power he had no control over. "Whatever you say, _chère_," he agreed finally, taking the hat into his hand.

Jemma opened the door and looked both ways along the corridor. Empty, fortunately. She turned back into the room and beckoned to Remy; he followed her with a grin that reminded her of his earlier words about not considering it a point of shame to be caught leaving her bed.

And of course, just as she closed the door behind them and turned to head for Skye's office, Coulson walked around the corner.

_**Mon ange, oh mon Dieu –**_** my angel, oh my God**

_**Je te veux tellement **_**– I want you so much**

_**c'est si bon**_** – that's so good**

_**Oui**_**, **_**jouis pour moi, s'il te plait**_** – yes, come (climax) for me, please**

_**liaisons**_** – affairs **

_**Exactement**_** – exactly, precisely**

**UH-OH.**

**Somehow I cannot think Coulson is going to react all that well to catching Remy and Jemma leaving her room with a distinct air of afterglow about them both…**

**(I may not get the next chapter up tomorrow. Heaps to do today, and I haven't even started it yet. Sorry if there's a couple of days wait. Hey, at least I didn't leave it on a smuthanger!)**


	8. Get Away From Him

**Chapter Eight – Get Away From Him**

_Chris Isaak – Wicked Game_

Jemma was actually astonished at just how fast Coulson had his gun out and pointing at Remy's head. Damn, Coulson was such a badass, for all his unassuming demeanour. His eyes were flinty as he stared down the gun sight. "Get away from him, Jemma!" he barked out.

"Coulson, don't," she said, moving in front of Remy and spreading her arms defensively, though she heard Remy's soft huff of laughter at _her_ presuming to try and defend _him_. "Please. Put the gun away."

The gun was already lowering, once Jemma put herself into the field of fire. Phil stared in amazement.

"You haven't _aged_," he walked forward as though in a trance. "Not _one day_. How is that _possible_? I saw on the surveillance footage – but I didn't think it could be…" Phil suddenly felt old, tired and slow. LeBeau looked exactly the same as he had all those years ago, his face smooth and unlined, though his hair was longer now. He'd had it in a short military clip when he'd saved Phil's ass in that long-ago hellhole.

"Good to see you too, Coulson," Remy held his hand out, waited while Phil holstered the gun and returned the gesture. They shook, though Phil's eyes slid across to Jemma and he did look deeply concerned. She looked at the floor with a wince, remembering what he'd told her about not trusting Remy too quickly. But he was her _soulmate_; somehow she was absolutely sure that he would _never_ harm her.

Remy's warm hand returned to the small of her back in a light, yet somehow very possessive touch once he'd shaken Phil's hand, and Jemma had no doubt Phil saw the gesture. She felt suddenly slutty and cheap; it had to have been pretty obvious to Phil what she and Remy had been up to, and she could almost sense his disappointment in her.

Phil watched the two of them, considering and discarding several possible remarks. It was obvious from Jemma's flushed cheeks and downcast eyes that she was feeling pretty ashamed of herself just now, and Phil suffered a sudden moment of horror as he wondered if LeBeau had coerced her into his bed. The fact that Remy was able to coerce with his voice, those who didn't know that he had the ability, was in a Level 10 section of his file that Phil hadn't shared with Jemma or the rest of the team. He kicked himself mentally for being such an idiot. They'd have been protected against the ability if he'd only _told_ them about it!

"So just when did you get here, LeBeau?" he asked coldly.

"Couple hours ago," Remy was completely relaxed, his posture casual, but that possessive hand stayed at the small of Jemma's back as the three of them began to walk down the corridor.

"And how did you get in?"

Remy smiled. "I don't think you know all this base's secrets, Director Coulson. _I _was last here when it was still in service, Director Carter's headquarters."

Phil found himself gritting his teeth at the Cajun's drawled remark. _Damn_ Fury and Peggy Carter and their insane secrets anyway!

"I hope you'll do us the courtesy of sharing what you know," he managed to get out, and Remy inclined his head with a polite smile but didn't actually agree out loud.

Jemma was silent, walking between them, her head swivelling like a spectator at a tennis match. The passed Skye's open office door, and Skye, looking up, saw the three of them and jumped up, hurrying after them with her eyes as wide as saucers. Coming to his office, Coulson gestured Remy and Jemma inside.

May, Hunter and Morse were there, poring over a large display. "Did you find it, Coulson… _oh_," May actually looked startled as she saw Remy come in with them, and then all three of the field agents reacted the same way, reaching for their weapons until Coulson snapped;

"Stand down!"

The two women obeyed, but Hunter pulled his gun and levelled it, his hand rock-steady.

"What the _actual_ fuck?"

Remy looked closely, and then grinned. "Sergeant Hunter. Well, well. Fancy seeing you here."

Hunter was ashen. "Who _are_ you?"

"Why do I have the feeling that you had a similar encounter with him to mine, if not quite as many years ago?" Phil muttered. "Did a man who looked exactly like this one save your ass in some hellhole in a very unlikely if not downright impossible way, Hunter?" he asked a bit more loudly.

"Put the gun away, Sergeant," Remy said softly. "The only person in this room you _couldn't_ hurt with it is me."

Jemma watched in amazement as Hunter's hand lowered and he put the gun away, seemingly without even realising what he was doing. May and Bobbi both stared, wide-eyed, and Bobbi's hands crept up to the handles of the stun batons sheathed across her back.

"_Madame_, that wouldn't be wise," Remy said, still in that soft voice, though he didn't even look directly at Bobbi. Her hands dropped away.

"Please stop coercing my agents, LeBeau," Phil said in an iron-hard voice.

"I will stop when _they_ stop engaging in threatening behaviour in the presence of my soulmate." Remy turned his head to look at Phil, and Phil couldn't refrain from taking an instinctive step back as those eyes glowed redder.

"How about we all take a deep breath and cool down here?" Jemma found her voice. "Remy's not here to hurt anyone. I get that you've had an encounter with him before, Coulson, and obviously Hunter too, but he didn't hurt you then, did he?"

"Didn't hurt _me_, no," Hunter said. "The Iraqi Presidential Guard weren't quite so fortunate."

"You're welcome," Remy said, his grin turning suddenly wicked. Hunter and Bobbi both startled.

"You said that then," Hunter said, amazed, "and when you saw the look on my face you laughed and said 'your soulmate will be very annoyed if you get your ass killed here, Sergeant'." He moved closer to Remy, staring at his face. "Incredible. Thirteen years and you look just the same." Turning to Bobbi, he said "Don't _ever_ play cards with this guy. The entire barracks was broke by the time he left."

That broke the ice; Coulson actually snorted with laughter. "You _played cards_ with _Gambit_?"

"They don't pick squaddies for their brains," Bobbi said dryly, and then May and Jemma were laughing too.

"How many _more_ of my staff are you going to turn out to have a history with?" Phil asked Remy after a moment.

"Barton and Romanoff aren't with you?"

"No," Phil shook his head. "They're with the Avengers. Uh, they don't know I survived the mess with Loki, and I'd rather keep it that way for now…"

Remy gave him an indecipherable look. "What about Sebastian?"

Phil looked blank. "Sebastian who?"

"I heard that accent and I didn't believe it," a voice said from the doorway. "Remy LeBeau, as I live and breathe."

They all turned to see both Koenigs in the doorway with huge grins on their faces. Remy let out a laugh and stepped forward, spreading his arms, and to Jemma's – and, she suspected, everyone else's – amazement, Sam and Billy both stepped into the hug, embracing the taller man happily.

"So two of you are here, anyway," Remy looked at them as they stepped back. "It's – Sam, isn't it? And Andy?"

"Sam yes, but I'm Billy."

"My apologies. Are you all okay?"

Billy shook his head, and Jemma saw the familiar angry look come across his face. "Eric's dead. Killed by a HYDRA traitor at Providence."

Skye, who had slipped into the room almost unnoticed and been watching the proceedings silently with a fascinated eye, winced at the reminder of Ward. Billy went on, though. "Alec died in the Triskelion. Stuart was murdered at the Fridge by the same HYDRA traitor and his friends. Ian was killed in the battle for the Sandbox, though we did actually win that one."

Remy closed his eyes in grief. "I am so very sorry."

Sam nudged his shoulder against Billy's. "Remy, it's hardly _your_ fault. _None_ of us would be alive if it wasn't for you."

"What. The. Actual. Fuck," it was Hunter again, saying what they were all thinking. Sam, seeing the expressions around the room, grinned.

"Ah shit, Billy, we were gonna have to come clean and admit we're not robots sooner or later."

"You've been playing that old trick, have you?" Remy laughed.

"So _what_ are you? And how many of you _are_ there?" Hunter demanded. "You once told Trip there were thirteen…"

"Nine," Remy shook his head at Sam, who was grinning unrepentantly. "Well, ten counting the original." They were all staring at him in fascination, so he explained, speaking mainly to Jemma. "It was another of the Weapon Plus programs, a few years later than mine, in the early seventies. Using children again, as by now they'd figured there was no way adults could survive the process. A boy called Sebastian, an orphan – he didn't survive, but he _changed_. Into nine clones."

"We chose our names from his, each one taking a letter," Billy said. "Sam, Eric, Billy, Andy, Stuart, Terry, Ian, Alec and Noel. SEBASTIAN."

"There weren't any other effects. Nothing apart from their interchangeability," Remy's voice was sad. "Anyway, I was on a mission at the time to smash up Weapon Plus facilities. Came across this place in Missouri. Found nine identical, scared little boys there. I had less than no idea what to do with them, so I called Peggy Carter. She came and took them in."

"We didn't want to be separated," Sam took up the story, "and it wasn't like Peggy could find a place for nine identical orphan clones in any kind of normal society, so she raised us herself within S.H.I.E.L.D. Her and Nick Fury, when he took over."

"And now four of you have given your lives to it," Remy said sadly. "Which makes me wonder if I did the right thing…"

Jemma couldn't help but slide her hand into his, seeing the sad, doubtful look on his face, even as Sam and Billy fell all over themselves reassuring him that they wouldn't have had it any other way. They were obviously both fond of and deeply respectful of Remy, and Jemma got the impression that he'd checked in on them, or at least some of the clones, intermittently over the years. From the look on Phil's face she could tell that he wanted to ask where the hell the other three surviving clones were, but he politely refrained. For now.

Drawn by the noisy chatter, Mack and Fitz arrived to join the group, and Phil threw up his hands and ushered everyone to the lounge, saying his office was too small. Jemma found herself neatly separated from Remy, talking with the Koenigs, as Skye practically dragged her into a corner.

"You _were_ in your room with him! Have you lost your mind?" Skye hissed at her.

"No, and please keep your voice down, I really don't want everyone to know that I was behaving like a total slut," Jemma muttered back, eyes darting about to make sure no one was close enough to hear. Remy turned his head and looked at her, and she had the nasty feeling that _he'd_ heard her, though, from the look on his face and the way he shook his head slightly at her before returning his attention to something Hunter was saying.

"Don't be silly, it's not about that, he's gorgeous, I'd tap that in a hot second," Skye whispered with an appreciative look at Remy, who smirked, causing Jemma to realise that he could _definitely_ hear them. "It's about that fact that Phil warned you how dangerous he is and you promised you'd be careful!"

"You haven't found your soulmate yet, Skye," to Jemma's surprise it was Bobbi who butted in, moving close and keeping her voice low. "So you don't get it. I do," she gave Jemma a sympathetic smile, which Jemma returned gratefully. "Even if he's a complete dickhead who bugs the shit out of you," she tilted her head in Hunter's direction, "there's a physical _pull_ that's all but impossible to resist."

Jemma sagged with relief that Bobbi was being so understanding and non-judgemental. But then no one in the room other than she and Hunter had found their soulmates, so perhaps the others _couldn't_ understand.

"Thanks," she muttered, and Bobbi nodded.

"That said," the older woman murmured quietly, "he's really fucking dangerous, Jemma. I'd never even heard of the Level 8 Asset Index until the other day. You be careful."

Jemma sighed. And at that exact moment, Hunter suddenly realised exactly why Remy was there.

"Fuck, it was _you_ in the bar the other night! _You're_ Simmons' soulmate?"

Whispers of shock went through the room, those who hadn't already realised. Jemma winced away from Fitz's shocked look of betrayal, looking instead at Remy, who inclined his head, looking at Jemma and smiling proudly.

"Indeed I am. I am a lucky man, am I not?"

She smiled shyly back at him.

It was Fitz's voice that broke the moment. "You can't have her."

Remy turned, raising one dark brow. "I beg your pardon, _mon ami_?" he drawled in a deceptively soft voice.

**Oh **_**shit**_**, Fitz, that wasn't a very smart thing to say…**

**Did you like my explanation for the Koenigs? My headcanon for this AU continues to grow, I've got a fair few more interesting ideas to explore as well!**


	9. I Beg Your Pardon

**Chapter Nine – I Beg Your Pardon**

_Bon Jovi – I'll Be There For You_

"I beg your pardon, _mon ami_?" Remy's eyes glowed as he looked at Fitz. The younger, smaller man didn't back down, though.

"You can't just waltz in here and take Jemma away from us, just because she's your _soulmate_," Fitz clarified. "That's not how it works. The only other two people in this room with soulmates are living proof that it's not all sunshine and roses."

Bobbi and Hunter glanced rather guiltily at each other, but then Bobbi nodded. "It takes work, as much as any other relationship, soulmates or otherwise. Compromise."

"Jemma's life is with _us_. We're her family," Fitz said, his voice wavering slightly. "She's my best friend, my platonic soulmate, and I'm not just going to let you walk out of here with her."

"Um," Jemma said, "no one's said anything about going anywhere?"

Remy smiled at her. "I hadn't planned on asking you to leave with me, no. Frankly, I don't have a real home. Nowhere to take you. I have commitments I have agreed to honour, and I'd far rather be sure you are safe here with people who care about you, than take you into danger just because I selfishly want you close to me." He turned back to Fitz and held out his hand. "I'm glad she has you, Fitz. All of you," he looked around at the rest of the team.

It was so totally not what Fitz had expected him to say that he boggled, his mouth falling open with shock. Remy took a step back when Fitz made no move to take his hand, moving across the room to Jemma.

"Jemma is my _soulmate_," he looked in her eyes, lifted his hand to brush the back of his fingers lightly across her cheek. "I've been waiting for her for a long time. But you are correct, _madame_," he inclined his head slightly to Bobbi. "A successful partnership, a relationship, takes work and compromise, whether between soulmates or not. Trying to take Jemma away from those she loves would be about the worst beginning I could think of."

They were all looking so charmed by the smooth, handsome bastard, and Jemma was staring up at him like a starry-eyed idiot in a sappy romance novel. Angry and jealous, Fitz snapped; "Good, because we wouldn't let you take her with you anyway! About all we know about you is that Peggy Carter said you were dangerous!"

Remy stiffened, his hand dropping from Jemma's cheek, and he turned, deliberately putting himself between her and Fitz. "Who are you to tell _me_ what I may or may not do?" he said, his tone deceptively soft. Jemma had a sudden moment of terror, looked frantically at Skye, at Coulson, but they were all too busy staring at Fitz, who was showing an unexpected core of courage, however misplaced.

"I'm Jemma's other soulmate," Fitz said aggressively, "and I'll be the one who picks up the pieces _when_ you break her heart."

"_Tu me fais chier, connard_ ," Remy said softly, taking a step forward. Jemma panicked, clutching at his arm, since everyone else seemed frozen by Fitz's audacity.

"Don't! Remy, don't, please…"

"You're a thief and a killer, and you're no good for her," Fitz said, emboldened even further by Jemma's defence of him. "Jemma deserves better, even if she has lost her head over your pretty face."

Remy lost his temper. "_Je me fous de ce que tu penses_ _de moi, mais_ _…"_ he strode forward, fully intent on throttling the cheeky pup, and suddenly realised that Jemma had a tight grip on his arm as she was dragged along with him. He looked down at her, his brow furrowing.

"Don't!" she stared up at him through tear-filled eyes. "Remy. _Please d_on't."

"_Have you lost your fucking mind?_" Hunter was the one who recovered first, turning on Fitz. "Have you any _idea_ what he could do to you – could level this base in a hot minute…" his voice receded down the corridor as he and Mack grabbed one of a protesting Fitz's arms each and literally dragged him out.

"Remy," Jemma whispered, a little terrified. His fists were slowly clenching and releasing, and there was definitely a faint violet glow about his fingertips. "He didn't mean it."

"Oh, but he did, _mon ange_," Remy let out a bitter laugh. "And the worst part is, it was all true. All except for the part where he insulted you. That, I can't forgive. No one insults you and gets away with it, not even him."

"It wasn't really…" Jemma trailed off, realising that telling Remy that Fitz and she regularly said far ruder things than that to each other would be highly counter-productive at this point. She was vaguely aware of Bobbi and May quietly shepherding Coulson, Skye and the wide-eyed Koenigs out of the room, but she was too focussed on Remy, on calming his obvious fury, to even nod them a thank-you. "He's angry and jealous," she said in the end. "He always knew he'd have to share me with my romantic soulmate, but I suppose he hoped that _his_ would turn up first, so he wouldn't be the one left out."

Remy sighed, looking down at her anxious, pale face. Glanced at his fingers and winced as he saw the faint gleam of violet light. He concentrated for a moment on dissipating the energy harmlessly. "I don't do well with confrontation," he murmured finally. "You would be wise to warn Fitz not to get in my face like that again."

She nodded frantically. "I will, I promise. I don't know what got into him!"

"I can imagine," Remy murmured. "You could inspire men to great bravery for love of you, my Jemma."

She felt her cheeks go pink. "He _is_ my platonic soulmate. He has a right to be concerned about me – but not to be so rude to _you_. I'll read him the riot act later, I promise you."

"Good." His arms folded around her gently, and she leaned into him, resting her cheek against his chest, breathing in the warm, musky scent of his body. "I take care of what's mine, Jemma," he whispered against her hair. "I'll try not to be a possessive asshole – but you _are_ mine. I'll not tolerate any insult to you, nor any slur on your honour – not even from yourself."

Jemma twitched as he confirmed he _had_ heard what she'd said to Skye. Keeping her head down so she didn't have to look at him, she muttered; "It _was_ kind of a slutty thing to do."

"No it wasn't_, mon ange_. It was a natural, beautiful thing I will remember gladly for the rest of my life, the way you gave yourself to me so sweetly, so trustingly. Don't you dare regret something that perfect."

"Oh," Jemma let out a little gulp of surprise. "That's – a really beautiful sentiment."

"You were what was beautiful, Jemma. Only you." His large hand curled around the back of her neck, tilted her face up so that he could take her lips in a long, slow kiss. "_Tu es ravissante, séduissante – je t'aime, mon ange, toujours_." He whispered the words between kisses, feeling her relax into his embrace.

"Don't feel ashamed. I heard your friend, the tall woman, tell you that it's different between soulmates. I never – I just…" he looked a little shamefaced. "I certainly didn't come into your room with the intent of seducing you. I got here earlier than I expected, hacked the lanyard system, worked out which was your room – and I couldn't stay away. I just wanted to see you."

Jemma's eyes had flown wide when he admitted to hacking the lanyard system. He carried on, though, speaking softly, his fingers stroking the back of her neck making her melt against him.

"And when I came in, you looked so _cold_. I couldn't help myself, I just wanted to hold you. Touch you. I've been alone so long, Jemma, you can't imagine how it felt to see you that night in the bar, knowing I couldn't get too close."

"Why not?" she asked, suddenly puzzled.

"Because you were _drunk_!" he shook his head at her sheepish grin. "You were insanely beautiful in that dress, and you were quite clearly drunk off your head. Your friends had been giving you shots all night. You'd never have sung to me if you were sober, would you?"

Jemma shook her head, embarrassed again at the memory of how she had danced and sung, deliberately approached Remy and flirted with him just because he was an attractive man who'd been eyeing her up.

"And because you were drunk, I had to leave, _chère_. I didn't want you to hate me in the morning for taking advantage. And that's if there _hadn't_ been a really ugly confrontation with your friends." He smiled wryly. "I knew that much in advance. If I'd tried to force the issue, claim you as my soulmate then and there, things would not have turned out well. For anyone."

He was almost certainly right. Fitz had been difficult enough today. With a few drinks in him for Dutch courage, it could have been a _very_ ugly scene. Jemma shivered at the thought, and Remy held her closer, pressing his lips to her forehead. He blinked suddenly, as though considering something. "Where _is_ my mark on you? I didn't see it."

She really did blush then, a deep fire red. "You must, uh, not have been looking."

"I had a pretty good look all over, I think, _ma belle_," he grinned teasingly. "Where is it?"

Remy considered, thinking back to what he'd seen of Jemma's body. "It's not on your back, or your beautiful bottom," one big hand slipped down for a teasing pat. "Not on your breasts, or your chest, or your stomach. I suppose it must be on one of your legs somewhere, I admit I haven't had time to give them as much attention as they deserve."

"It's on my thigh," she muttered finally.

"Here?" he stroked lightly down the outside of her thigh. "Though I think I'd have seen that…"

"No." He'd had his mouth on her mark, Jemma realised, but probably hadn't really noticed, focussed on something else. "It's here." She gave in finally, pressed a finger against the inside of her left thigh, right in the crease.

The corners of his mouth kicked up in a wickedly tempting smirk. "I want to see."

"Not now!" she looked around, blushing. "And certainly not _here_!"

"Well, we could go back to your room, _chère_…" a delightful idea, that. Remy kissed Jemma hungrily, seeking to tempt her to his way of thinking, sensed victory as she melted pliantly against him.

And then his phone went off in his coat pocket, buzzing softly against his hip.

"_Merde_," very few people had that number, and even fewer would call it except in dire emergency. He pulled the phone from his pocket, eyes widening at whatever appeared on the screen, and tapped hastily. "_Oui, chère, qu'est-ce que c'est? Tu es bien?_"

Whoever was on the other end of the line was clearly important to Remy, as he spoke urgently in French too rapid for Jemma to catch more than one word in ten. He finished with a sharp "_D'accord. Je vais là bientôt_," and ended the call. "Jemma, I am so sorry, I have to go. My – friend – is in trouble."

"It's fine," she said simply. "I understand. I know you'll come back to me when you can."

His face, which had drawn into tight lines of worry as he spoke on the phone, softened again. "The very minute I am able, _mon ange_. I will need to speak quickly to Coulson before I go – when I return, there are some things I will need to tell you about…"

She silenced him by the simple expedient of pulling his mouth down to hers for a thorough kiss. And then she let go, smiling up at him. "Go. The sooner you go, the sooner you'll be back, right?"

"_En vérité_. As soon as I can." He looked at her as though memorising her features. "Stay safe, Jemma." And with one last caress to her cheek, he was gone.

Jemma stood for a moment, trying to regain her equilibrium. And then she firmed her jaw, her eyes narrowing. She had a bone to pick with a certain dunderheaded Scottish engineer. What the _hell_ had Fitz thought he was _doing_? She headed for the lab with a glint in her eye.

Coulson was back in his office, alone. Sitting behind his desk, fingers steepled thoughtfully together in front of him. Remy stopped in the open doorway and met the other man's eyes squarely.

"Wouldn't have thought you could tear yourself away from Simmons," Phil said, a little surprised.

Remy's mouth twisted, and he came into the office and closed the door behind him at Phil's gesture. "To quote the poet, _I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep_. I got a call, and I have to go."

"I see. Let me guess, you're here to warn me of the dire consequences should anything befall your soulmate in your absence?" Phil asked dryly.

"I think you already know I'd raze this place to the ground if so much as one hair on her head is harmed," Remy said quietly. Phil nodded. "So I shan't waste my breath. I had a good working relationship with Peggy Carter, Director. Not so much with Fury – he wanted me to be a part of his Avengers Initiative, and didn't want to take my word for it that wasn't in the cards for me."

_Interesting_, Phil thought, but said nothing. It sounded like Fury, though. He didn't do well with _No_ for an answer.

"The fact is, you have something I want, Director, and you are aware that I have certain, shall we say _skills_, that could be of great use to you. Not to mention some very powerful and influential allies. With the right pressure in the right places, S.H.I.E.L.D. could be a legitimate agency again."

Phil tried very hard not to show how much that thought appealed to him. But he was well aware that although he had a fair poker face, no one was better than Gambit at reading the tells.

"Say the word, and it's done. I will ask only two things of you in return."

"Go on, I'm listening."

"That Jemma has a place here as long as she wishes it, a _safe_ place where she is not sent unnecessarily into danger. I can bring you more manpower – the kind of manpower you can be very sure want nothing more than to see HYDRA destroyed forever. Putting Jemma in harm's way will no longer be necessary."

Phil inclined his head. "And the second thing?"

Remy told him. Phil raised his eyebrows. "You told Jemma about this yet?"

"Not yet, and I'd prefer she heard it from me. Do you accept my terms, Director?"

"I'd be mad not to." Phil stood and offered his hand. "Jemma will always have a safe place with us no matter what, LeBeau."

Remy nodded, accepting the offered hand for a brief shake. Reaching for pen and paper on Phil's desk, he wrote down a number. "If you need to reach me, this is how. Otherwise – I hope to be back in a day or two." And then he absolutely horrified Phil by walking across his office and opening a secret door that he had no idea was there. His wicked grin reappeared at the look on Phil's face. "Tsk, tsk, Director. Didn't even scan your own office for secret exits?"

_Tu me fais chier, connard_ – you're pissing me off, asshole

_Je me fous de ce que tu penses_ _de moi, mais_ – I could give a fuck what you think about me, but…

_Tu es ravissante, séduissante – _You are ravishing, sensual

_je t'aime, mon ange, toujours _– I love you, my angel, forever

_Merde_ – shit

_Oui, chère, qu'est-ce que c'est? Tu es bien?_ – Yes, dear one, what is it? Are you all right?

_D'accord. Je vais là bientôt_ – Okay. I'll be there soon.

_En vérité_ – Truly, for sure

**Remy can definitely be an aggravating little shit. So what do you think the second thing he asked of Coulson was? I'm keeping it a secret for now but you're welcome to have a guess…**


	10. I Will Choose Him

**Chapter Ten – I Will Choose Him**

_Pink Floyd – Wish You Were Here_

Jemma found Fitz in the garage, Mack pushing him into physical work as the pair of them worked on May's motorbike. Mack cast her one of his silently thoughtful looks and stayed where he was, close enough to Fitz to grab his arm if necessary.

"Where's loverboy, run off and abandoned you already?" Fitz sneered. Jemma took a deep breath, walked over and slapped him as hard as she could across the face.

"How _dare_ you!" she yelled. "How fucking _dare_ you, Fitz! You _asshole_!"

Fitz stared at her in amazement, hand to his stinging cheek. Jemma _never_ shouted, never lost her temper. And _certainly_ not with him.

"Remy is my _soulmate_," Jemma snarled through gritted teeth. "You insult him, you insult _me_. Don't you dare ever do that again, or I swear to God I will leave with him and you'll never see me again, because let me make this absolutely clear, I _will _choose_ him _if you force me to choose."

Fitz wilted, his bravado destroyed by her righteous rage. "Jemma, I'm sorry," he said quietly, watched her settle down slowly at his sincere apology. "I was – I _am_ – concerned about you. LeBeau is probably the most dangerous person we've ever encountered, and considering what the last year has been like, that's really saying something."

"Did it not _occur_ to you that makes him a really good person to have _on our side_?" Jemma sighed at his kicked-puppy expression. "Fitz, you were _rude_. I expect you to apologise to Remy, when he gets back. And yes, he had to leave – a friend needed his help."

Slowly, they settled into a slightly uneasy truce. Fitz didn't mention Remy again – and neither did anyone else, although Phil drew each of them quietly aside during the day and warned them about Remy's powers of coercion, reassuring them that they should be immune to it now they knew.

"Don't be ridiculous," Jemma said rather scornfully when Phil sat her down and asked her a bit awkwardly if Remy had tried to coerce her. Although she remembered with a faint hint of unease the way he'd looked a bit shame-faced when he'd told her '_I can't make you want me'_.

"He used it on Hunter and Bobbi. You didn't think Hunter would have put his gun away like that otherwise, did you?"

"He did that because Hunter was pointing a gun in a direction which generally included me," Jemma pointed out, "and he told you he'd stop coercing them when _they_ stopped engaging in threatening behaviour with me in the room. He didn't try and coerce Fitz, did he? Because Fitz wasn't endangering _me_."

"No," Phil conceded, thinking that was probably the one time Remy _should_ have used that particular power. From what he'd found in the Level 10 files – LeBeau was generally pretty unconcerned with inconvenient things like _morals_.

That said, his file hadn't been updated in ten years and Fury, who clearly didn't get on well with LeBeau, had made the last entries, probably annoyed when LeBeau declined to join the Avengers Initiative…

Phil sighed, passed a weary hand over his face, and stood. "Jemma, I didn't tell you before but there's another file on LeBeau. I think perhaps you'd better read it. Forewarned is forearmed and all that." He handed her a tablet, watched her face as she bit her lip uncertainly. "You can ask me questions if you like, but honestly I know no more than what's down there. I've opened up the link to the report on the mission where I encountered him, and Hunter's agreed to brief me to create a report about the time he met LeBeau in Iraq – and to talk to you about it if you want."

"Thank you," Jemma murmured, unable to feel anything but touched by his gentle concern. Although deep inside her a hot core of irritation burned that everyone seemed to feel the need to _protect_ her from Remy. They didn't _understand_. She lifted the tablet and began reading.

_Name: Remy Etienne LeBeau aka Gambit_

_Known Aliases: Remy Picard, Philippe Samhain, Robert Lord, Captain René Letour of the French Foreign Legion (others known to exist but unconfirmed)_

_Place of Birth: New Orleans, Louisiana (unconfirmed)_

_Date of Birth: Unknown. LeBeau has not appeared to age physically since first contact in 1971 to present date. His claim to Director Carter to have been 7 years old when made a test subject in the Weapon IV program (1959) is unverified. No birth certificate has been found. _

_Last Known Residence: Professor Xavier's School For Gifted Youngsters (teacher, martial arts and languages)_

_Languages spoken: Fluent (native) in French, observed fluency in Japanese, Spanish, Russian and Arabic. LeBeau speaks with a Cajun accent and often litters his speech with French words, particularly when agitated. He has been observed, however, to alter or lose the accent entirely at need._

_Physical Description: Approx 6'2" tall, strongly built, hair brown, seems to prefer to wear it long although has been observed numerous times with short hair, with and without a beard. Eyes appear dark at first glance but can be observed to 'burn' red on closer examination. Contacts reportedly do not hide the colour. LeBeau frequently conceals his eyes with sunglasses or a hat tilted low. He is often observed wearing a long leather coat, apparently customised to conceal a number of weapons._

_Known habits: LeBeau is a skilled gambler and card player. He prefers private, high stakes poker games. DO NOT attempt to gamble with him under ANY circumstances._

_Conventional abilities: LeBeau has shown himself to be skilled with many conventional weapons, including knives, swords, throwing spikes, guns and martial arts weapons. He has been most frequently observed in hand to hand combat with a specially made, telescoping b__ō staff he conceals inside a long leather coat which he prefers to wear. LeBeau has been observed piloting various aircraft including military craft. He is a skilled pickpocket and incredibly gifted at sleight of hand, particularly with his playing cards._

Jemma looked up at Phil. "There's nothing here that wasn't in the Level 8 file."

Phil leaned over and pressed his thumb to an icon in the corner of the screen. It blinked and a new screen flashed up.

_Confirmed non-conventional abilities; LeBeau is able to manipulate energy he draws from objects. The smaller the object, the quicker he is able to 'charge' it. He has been observed numerous times throwing playing cards, gravel, sand and other small articles with lethal accuracy; the items then explode on contact with their target. A violet light is observed when LeBeau works with energy in this manner. He also uses his staff to transmit energy to larger objects. He appears to require skin contact with an item in order to 'charge' it._

_While a skilled hand-to-hand fighter, it is clear that LeBeau has some super-human abilities. His speed, strength and dexterity cannot be matched by human opponents. His endurance is apparently limitless, possibly due to his manipulation of the energy field._

_LeBeau is known to be able to coerce with his voice. This ability is generally (but not always) nullified if the subject of his coercion is advised of the ability._

_LeBeau appears to have some predictive abilities. He uses his playing cards in a similar way to a Tarot reader. While apparently accurate, his predictions are cryptic, and even he does not always seem able to interpret them until after the event predicted has occurred._

_LeBeau has been observed to heal wounds on his own body. He claims not to be able to heal others, though he informed Director Carter that his associate [LINK DELETED] has this ability._

_Known Associates: LeBeau has had confirmed face-to-face encounters with the following S.H.I.E.L.D. agents: Director(Retired) Margaret Carter; Director Nicholas Fury; Deputy Director Maria Hill; Agents P. Coulson, V. Hand, C. Barton, N. Romanoff, S.E.B.A.S.T.I.A.N. Koenig, J. Garrett, I. Blake, J. Sitwell, G. Ward._

Jemma froze on the last name, her head snapping up. "Remy met _Ward_?"

Phil smiled tightly. "I thought you might find that interesting. There's a mission report. Apparently Ward was in Paris on a mission – sent to steal some item S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted, this was before the Chitauri invasion, even. LeBeau had got there ahead and stolen it already, passed it off to some unknown contact. He hung around and got the jump on Ward. I found the debriefing interview Ward gave afterwards." He pointed a remote control at the TV screen. "You might find this interesting."

"I have no freaking idea who he was," Ward said sullenly to the person interviewing him – who Jemma realised belatedly was Maria Hill. "I just know he wasn't human_. No-one's_ that quick." He looked as though his pride had been wounded, Jemma thought with a certain smug satisfaction.

"And this is definitely the man you saw?" Hill slid a photo across the table to Ward, who glanced at it and nodded before pushing it back.

"He had longer hair, and he was clean-shaven, but that's definitely him. What did you say his name was?"

"I didn't, Agent Ward, and as his identity is classified I'm not going to. Please tell me what exactly happened, and word for word what he said to you, if you can remember."

"Of course I can remember!" Ward bristled. "He… surprised me. I had no idea anyone was even there and the next second I was face down on the rug with him sitting on my back. I could only just see his face, but I'll never forget him. He spoke in French, but I'll translate," he gave Hill a condescending look. The former Deputy Director just nodded calmly.

"He said 'Grant Ward. You will have a choice to make, not so far in the future. Be very careful in your choices. You never know what enemies you might be making'." Ward scowled. "And then he knocked me out. When I woke up he was gone. What I want to know is how the _fuck_ he knew my _name_!"

Jemma chewed on her lip thoughtfully, staring at the screen as Phil tapped the remote again and it went blank. "Do you think Remy knew about HYDRA?"

"I sincerely hope not. I doubt it. He seemed genuinely distressed to know about the Koenig brothers – clones – who died. From what I know of his predictive abilities, they seem more focussed small-scale, on individuals, as it were, rather than major events. He knew _something_ was going on with Ward. Maybe he had a cryptic sort of warning that Ward might pose a danger to his soulmate." Phil shrugged. "Perhaps you should ask him, when he returns."

"Perhaps he could even help us find Ward," Jemma mused. Of all of them, she thought, she was the one who most keenly felt the desire to see Ward dead. She still remembered the look on his face when he'd pushed the button to send the medical pod falling into the ocean with her and Fitz trapped inside. And she was still furious with Skye for not putting those four bullets into his traitorous _head_ when she had the chance in San Juan.

Phil said nothing, guiltily aware that he fully intended to use Jemma as a bargaining chip to get LeBeau to aid S.H.I.E.L.D. in any way he could. But then Jemma was quite likely to ask LeBeau herself.

"Thanks," Jemma handed the tablet back to Phil. He nodded, feeling suddenly relieved that he'd carefully hidden part of the file – the part that detailed LeBeau's easy charm and ability to seduce even the best of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s female agents over to his way of thinking, even once they knew about his ability to coerce. Phil still shuddered at the memory of watching the Victoria Hand debriefing after her encounter with him. The hard-as-nails former Level 8 agent had giggled like a schoolgirl – and Maria Hill had been no better!

No, Jemma didn't need to know about that. Nor did she need to see the footage of the Barton and Romanoff debriefing, after the clusterfuck in Budapest when Remy had pulled both their asses out of the fire, almost literally charmed the pants off Romanoff and left Barton shaking his head and calling him an 'overly smooth Cajun bastard'.

It would hurt Jemma to know what a ladies' man, or to put it more bluntly a womaniser, her soulmate was. Or _had been_. Phil genuinely wanted to believe Remy had put those habits behind him well before Jemma came into his life. He truly did. It would crucify Jemma if Remy cheated on her, especially since she seemed to be fast falling head over heels for him.

**We've learned some pretty scary shit about Remy here. Is Jemma right to trust him as readily as she does? Only time will tell…**


	11. He's On Our Side

**Chapter Eleven – He's On Our Side**

**The Pretenders – Hymn To Her**

_**Author's Note**_

**Before I actually start today's chapter, I was a bit surprised and saddened by the amount of Phil-rage yesterday's chapter got. I actually think that Phil has made some pretty awful decisions since becoming Director, but choosing to tell Jemma what he knew about Remy – while concealing unnecessary information about Remy's past that would definitely hurt her – wasn't necessarily one of them. He's her father-figure, he's genuinely frightened of Remy and what the Cajun can do – as we're about to discover – and he's deeply concerned about Jemma's future. Perhaps he **_**should**_** butt out of her love life. **_**My**_** father was never any good at that, though ;-) And realistically – if my father had that kind of information about a man I was getting deeply involved with, I would WANT him to tell me. Not the womanising thing though. That would be cruel – though Dad would probably have got his shotgun out and delivered a private warning to the man in question.**

**That said, Phil **_**is**_** the Director and he has a **_**responsibility**_** to use the tools at his disposal in the most effective way to ensure the safety of his team – and everyone else he's trying to protect (the world, from HYDRA!) Remy himself offered Phil a deal he couldn't refuse, effectively telling Phil he'd work for him in exchange for Jemma's safety, and that other thing that hasn't been revealed yet. Considering the circumstances, it would be **_**irresponsible**_** of Phil NOT to take Remy up on that, and to mine him for every bit of information he can get.**

**Yes, Phil's motives are sometimes a little bit murky and his morals ambiguous enough that he's in no position to throw stones. Remember where he's coming from, though. He's fighting a shadow war on a **_**global**_** scale with no budget, barely any resources and a scant handful of people he can trust. Effectively he's reduced to pissing on spot fires. Frankly, he'll take help any way he can get it. As one of my reviewers commented, sometimes good people have to do ugly things for the greater good. That applies equally to Phil and Remy in this fic (and to Phil and his team in AoS for that matter. And to every real-life anti-terror, police and spy agency in existence).**

**I was surprised (and not a little horrified) by another reviewer (of Truth In A Bottle) a few days ago who commented that they felt SHIELD and HYDRA were pretty much indistinguishable because of some morally questionable things the AoS crew had done (in the TV series, not fic-land).**

**Phil, to me, epitomised the difference in S02E09, when he and Bobbi were in San Juan and she asked him what his acceptable casualty rate was, saying that Fury would have had one in mind. Phil told her that was how he differed from Fury; **_**his**_** acceptable casualty rate was zero.**

**HYDRA's acceptable casualty rate is the entire population of the world.**

_**That's**_** how you tell the difference.**

**ozhawk****, January 2015.**

**And now, on with the chapter!**

"So now you know," Phil said quietly at last. Jemma was just sitting, staring silently into space. "I don't know how or why he's your soulmate, Jemma. I truly don't quite understand. I thought your soulmate would be someone more – well, more like Fitz, honestly. LeBeau is old and dangerous, and frankly he frightens me. And I don't scare easily. Only one other time in my life have I ever faced a being that gave me that rabbit-in-the-headlights feeling – and that one killed me."

Jemma looked at him wide-eyed. "You mean _Loki_?"

Phil nodded, remembering the awful, visceral terror he'd felt facing the Trickster, despite the brave face he'd put on.

"Remy wouldn't – he's not like that," Jemma said. Denying that look in Phil's eyes. "He wouldn't hurt me." Of _that_ she was certain. "Nor anyone I cared about. You saw how nice he was trying to be, before Fitz antagonised him. He's on our side, Phil."

"Just be careful, Jemma. Please be careful. I'd hate to see him break your heart."

She couldn't help but go over to give him a hug, and though he did his best to look uncomfortable, she could feel from the warmth of his embrace, the tightness of his arms, that he was glad she'd done it.

"I'll be careful. Promise."

May came in after Jemma had left. Sat down opposite him and produced two glasses and a bottle of Scotch. Phil couldn't help but let out a pained little chuckle. "I look that bad?"

She said nothing. Just poured a generous finger of whisky into each glass and handed him one, sitting back to sip at her own.

They sat quietly for a while. Phil reached for the bottle to refill his glass first, though Melinda wasn't long behind him.

"Was I right, to tell her about LeBeau?" Phil asked eventually.

May eyed him over the rim of her glass, before setting it down with a quietly decisive click. "Like it or not, Phil, Jemma looks on you as her substitute father. So do Fitz and Skye."

He winced. "I never had kids; didn't think I'd have to go through this shit," he muttered.

"Hurts, doesn't it? We have to let them grow up sometime, though. Burying your head in the sand won't make it go away. Perhaps you should let Jemma and Remy work it out on their own, yes. But at the same time, you would be remiss in your duty if you hadn't let the rest of us know just what LeBeau is capable of. Telling the rest of us and not Jemma?" May spread her hands. "Recipe for disaster if I ever heard one."

Phil sighed with relief; at least May agreed with his decision. "How is Fitz taking it?" he asked.

"Badly, but hiding it for Jemma's sake," May shrugged. "He won't do anything stupid. Mack told me that Jemma read Fitz the riot act for sheer bad manners, and he apologised. Plus you and Hunter have successfully put the fear of LeBeau into him with your stories."

"They weren't _stories_, May." Phil shivered. "Look, I know all too well that I wouldn't be alive at all if it wasn't for LeBeau. But that doesn't change the fact that I know what he's capable of. I told Jemma before that I've only ever met one other being who scared me like LeBeau does, and that was Loki. He's more than human."

"So is Thor," May pointed out, "And Sif. And Steve Rogers, for that matter. Rogers is indeed an earlier product of the program that created LeBeau, and you don't have this reaction towards him, do you? Why is that, Phil?"

Phil opened his mouth to say, _But Captain America is one of the good guys_, and suddenly realised he was being a hypocrite. "I guess he's got better marketing," he said a bit weakly.

May stared at him open-mouthed for a moment before starting to laugh. Finally, Phil started to laugh along with her. "Oh God. Well, at least, as Jemma pointed out, LeBeau is definitely on our side!"

May poured them a third finger of whisky. "When's he coming back? For that matter, where did he go?"

"To help someone out – and bring them here," Phil shook his head when she gave him a quizzical look. "He asked me not to talk about it until he had the chance to talk to Jemma. There's a possibility she might be upset. But we may well be gaining another team member soon. Part of the bargain I struck with LeBeau. His assistance for our shelter."

"Gotta be worth it," May said immediately. "Just imagine what we could do with LeBeau on our side!"

"He's got some powerful allies, too. He's made a habit of pulling asses out of the fire that later turn out to be very powerful and influential people. And he's still on good terms with Xavier."

May set her glass down again. "Xavier might bring his people in on our side?" her eyes met Phil's, wide with awe – and hope. "My God – if even _half_ what I've heard about them is true…"

"We could match anything HYDRA could throw at us," Phil said quietly. "LeBeau made no promises, He clearly wasn't in a position to, but he _did_ say he'd use his influence on our behalf."

"Well," May smiled, a wolfish, hungry sort of smile, picked up her glass and held it up, "here's to LeBeau and Jemma, then. May they have a long and happy life together."

That, Phil could drink to. He leaned over and clinked his glass against May's before downing the whisky.

Remy cursed as the car sputtered and died. The blizzard had thickened in the last couple of miles, and the snow now was just too thick to get through. They were stuck in a drift. He glanced at his companion.

"It's not far, _chère_. While we won't freeze to death here," the two of them shared an amused smile at the thought, "it will be a lot more comfortable if we press on. You right to walk?"

She sneezed, but nodded gamely. They hadn't gone more than a few steps, though, before she slipped and fell in the snow. Remy picked her up at once, but she was wet through now.

"Climb on my back, _chère_, I'll carry you." He took his coat off, made her put it on, took his staff in hand. He could transmit energy through it to create a clear path, easily the quickest way to go.

By the time they got to the base, she was shuddering, her teeth chattering with the cold, her skin bluish. Remy cursed softly, looking at her as he eased her off his back and down to her feet. She'd been sick when he got to her – that was why she had called, of course, she couldn't risk letting anyone else take care of her – and now she was worse. He debated rousing the base, getting Jemma for her medical expertise – but realistically it would be quicker, and less risky for everyone concerned, if he took care of it.

He carried her into the lounge, settled her on the couch, stripped off his wet shirt and bent over her, removing her sodden clothes. He stripped her down to her underwear before sitting down and settling her on his lap, tucking her face against his throat, stroking her damp hair and carefully spreading his energy field to enclose them both.

She roused slowly, pressing closer to his warmth, winding her arms around his neck. "So good," she whispered hoarsely. "So good to _touch_…"

"I know, _ma petite_. Shh. I have you. Your Remy is here now." He pressed his lips gently to her forehead.

Jemma and Fitz had been working late in the lab. Jemma hadn't slept well since Remy left a couple of days earlier, though she wasn't sure if it was because of the residual energy he'd shared with her or simply because she missed him so much. Either way, she'd sought to keep herself busy with work, and as always Fitz kept her company. Eventually, though, he said;

"It's past two, Jemma. Come on. We're just going round in circles. Let's go get some sleep."

She sighed and let herself be persuaded. She was probably tired enough to sleep now. They wandered across to the accommodation wing, talking quietly. Passing the lounge door, Fitz saw that it was open and the light was on.

"Hello, someone's up. I hope Skye hasn't been having nightmares again…"

Jemma gave him an anxious look and pushed the door wider so they could both go in.

Remy looked up, startled, and smiled when he saw Jemma. "_Chère_! What are you doing up?"

Jemma froze, her mouth opening. She could not _possibly_ be seeing this. Not Remy, _her_ Remy, sitting perfectly at his ease on the couch, wearing only jeans and boots, a near-naked young woman curled in his lap, face pressed against his throat, her arms around his neck.

"No," she said numbly, taking a step back. "No."

Remy blinked. "Jemma, this isn't what it looks like…"

She turned and fled. Because there could be _no_ reasonable explanation for what she'd just seen. Behind her she heard Fitz's shout of;

"You utter _bastard_!" and ran faster, frantic to get away, from _him_, from the awful sympathy that she'd get from her team-mates, the _I-told-you-so_ looks from Skye, Coulson's sorrow on her behalf. She couldn't bear it.

**What. The. **_**Hell**_**.**

**Remy, **_**mon ami**_**, you gots some fast talkin' to do to 'splain your way out of that one.**

**So – who do you think the girl is? And WHY are she and Remy half-naked together?**

**Guesses welcome, but I shall neither confirm nor deny anything until tomorrow's chapter…**


	12. She's My Daughter

**Chapter Twelve – She's My Daughter**

_Heart – These Dreams_

**Well, lots of very astute people guessed correctly that it's Rogue. Rogue and Gambit were lovers in comic canon – but that's not what's going on here. Her name is not Marie D'Ancanto as it was in the movies, but the comic-canon Anna-Marie (unknown surname) – though in my version her surname is actually LeBeau…**

"You utter _bastard_!" Fitz's shout hung in the air. The sleeping girl in Remy's lap stirred, turning her head to reveal two pale streaks running through her dark hair.

"_Papi_?" she whispered hoarsely.

"Sh, sh, _petite_, it's all right. Remy will take care of it." Gently he laid her on the couch, covered her with a blanket and headed for Fitz, who was shaking with righteous outrage. "Fitz. _Listen_ to me. She's my daughter."

"Your – daughter?" Fitz thought about what he'd just seen. "That's _sick_, LeBeau!"

"Stop jumping to fucking conclusions!" Remy ran a hand through his hair in agitation. "She's _ill_, Fitz; influenza, maybe pneumonia. I can't heal, but if I flood my energy field through another person I can give them enough energy for their body to fight off infections on their own."

"And the pair of you have to be half-naked for that?" Fitz said sarcastically.

"_Yes_, because I can't share the energy without skin contact!" Remy hesitated, looking back at the sleeping girl on the couch. "Fitz, I need to go find Jemma. I can't let her think – what you just thought. Please would you watch over my daughter?" He grasped the younger man's shoulders in his hands, looked into Fitz's confused eyes. "I'll be back as soon as I can. No matter what, you _mustn't_ touch her skin. She has – let's call it a skin condition, and it could be lethal to you. Do you understand? _Please_."

Concerned and muddled, Fitz could only nod. "What's her name?" he said as Remy let go of his shoulders and headed for the door.

"Anna-Marie," Remy cast him a quick glance over his shoulder.

Left alone with the sleeping girl, Fitz just stood for several moments, his mouth open with confusion. And then he saw that Anna-Marie was shivering in her sleep, even under the blanket Remy had put over her. He looked around; no more blankets in here. His room was just two doors away, so he scurried there and back, collecting an armload of bedding and a pillow to tuck under her head.

_Don't touch her skin_, Remy had warned, so Fitz pulled the sleeves of his cardigan down over his hands and used them as makeshift mittens. It was only after he'd carefully tucked the pillow under her head – having to resist the instinctive urge to put the back of his hand against her forehead to check her temperature – that he wondered if whatever was on her skin could be transmitted via the cloth.

Surely not, Remy wouldn't have put her on the couch if it was – _would he?_ Carefully, Fitz tested the sleeve of his cardigan, where it had brushed Anna-Marie's face, against his wrist. No reaction. He let out a small sigh of relief and sat down in another chair to watch over the sleeping girl.

_Remy's daughter. Well_. For the first time it was brought home to Fitz that Remy really was a lot older than he looked, because Anna-Marie looked to be in her late teens. She was very pretty, or she probably would be if she wasn't so sick, her face pale but with red fever flags burning on her cheeks. She had thick dark hair the same colour as Remy's, apart from those two white streaks in the front, and she looked enough like him, features softened into femininity, that Fitz had no difficulty believing in their kinship.

He sighed, rubbing at his brow. He didn't understand how Remy's energy mojo thing worked, but the brief explanation had made complete sense – and Remy was obviously aware of just how bad it had looked, because he hadn't looked anything but pained and unhappy when Fitz confronted him. Reluctantly, Fitz conceded that he would have to give the Cajun the benefit of the doubt. He hoped Jemma would too.

Anna-Marie's eyes blinked open then. A startling grass-green colour, they stared blankly at Fitz, and then she flinched back, huddling away from him.

"Hey," he said gently. Uncertainly. "It's okay, I won't hurt you. You're sick, your father asked me to watch over you."

She stared at him for a long moment, and then to his utter horror, she began to cry, tears slipping down her pale cheeks.

"Oh God, don't cry, please," Fitz looked around frantically, spotted a box of tissues and grabbed for it, putting it close to her. "Please. Remy will be back in a minute, he went to find Jemma. You're safe here, Anna-Marie. My name's Fitz, I'm a friend of Jemma's – did Remy tell you about her?"

She nodded, grabbing a tissue and wiping at her eyes – and then blowing her nose with a very unladylike honk.

"Can I get you anything – a glass of water?" Fitz asked. Anna-Marie nodded again, and he wondered just how sore her throat was. He fetched the water and dug through the kitchen drawer where they kept common medications, finding a tube of throat lozenges. She smiled at him when he put them down on the table in front of her, but made no move to reach out until he'd retreated to his armchair again.

"You can't talk right now?"

She watched him from those huge green eyes, shook her head decisively and picked up the glass of water, draining it in a few swallows before taking a cough lozenge. She gave him a shy smile – making her look even prettier – before settling down on the couch again. She was looking better than she had even a few minutes ago, and Fitz remembered what Remy had said about sharing enough energy with her that her body could heal itself.

"You're going to be all right," Fitz said comfortingly.

She considered him for several long moments, seeming to come to some sort of decision, and then she opened her mouth and said hoarsely, "Ah'm not so sure about that as yah'll seem tah be, sugah."

Her Southern accent was so thick, her strained vocal chords so raspy, it took Fitz a moment to translate what she'd said into English in his head. And then to translate it back again to match with the words around his left ankle.

His eyes widened.

Tears began to slide down Anna-Marie's cheeks again. "Ah'm so sorry. Ah was hoping it wasn't yah. Oh Fitz, Ah'm so sorry."

"I don't understand," he said blankly, feeling as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. "You're my _soulmate_. Why are you sorry?" _She didn't want him_…

"Ah can't _touch_ yah!" she pushed herself up to a sitting position, clutching the blanket around her. "Ah can't touch _anyone_. Only Remy, and it hurts even him, though he pretends it doesn't. Ah'm like a vampire, or a succubus, suckin' the life out of mah victims – only Ah can't _help_ it, it's in mah _skin_!"

Fitz stared at her, numb with shock. _This should be the happiest moment of his life,_ he thought. He should be rejoicing that his soulmate was so beautiful, even now taking her in his arms to embrace her for the first time.

Instead, she was telling him they'd never have that first embrace. Never touch, never kiss. He'd never get to run his fingers through that thick hair, taste those soft lips. The universe had created this girl, this beautiful girl, just for him – and then made it so that he could never touch her.

It hurt even worse than Jemma's rejection. At least then, he'd still had the belief that one day his soulmate would come along to complete him, to give him what Jemma couldn't. Now – all of his dreams were gone.

He stood and moved out of the room as though walking underwater. Anna-Marie buried her face in her hands and wept.

**Oh **_**Fitz**_**. Nothing comes easy for that poor lad, does it?**

**Right, a quick explanation of how Rogue/Anna-Marie's powers work in this version. Just touching someone's skin, she involuntarily absorbs life-force or energy from whoever she touches. If she concentrates, she is able to take memories and/or powers as well. While there are a very few people who know what she is and sometimes allow her to touch them because they are able to heal themselves (eg Wolverine, Angel) Remy is the only one she can touch safely for more than a brief moment, because he is able to constantly replenish his energy. It hurts, though he pretends it doesn't because he loves his daughter and he knows she needs the human contact.**

**We'll find out more about Rogue in the next chapter, when we catch up with Remy and Jemma…**

**(oh, and no. This isn't the Fitz/Rogue Soulmate Short. That'll be an entirely different story).**


	13. It's Not What You Think

**Chapter Thirteen – It's Not What You Think**

_Jordin Sparks - Battlefield_

"Jemma!" Remy ran from the lounge room, panicking. God, he'd never even _thought_ about how that might look if someone walked in, he'd just been frantic to get as much of his baby girl's skin as possible in contact with his so he could flood energy into her, make her feel better as quickly as he could. She'd been dangerously ill when he got to her, unable to get help for fear of accidentally hurting someone. He'd given her as much energy as he could at the time, but his every instinct was screaming at him to get Anna-Marie out of the dingy motel she'd holed up in – and they were going to have to have a long conversation about just why she'd run away from school _again_.

_Later_. Right now he needed to find Jemma and make this right. What a fucking terrible way for her to meet Anna-Marie, he so desperately wanted the two most important women in his life to like each other. And ever since he realised that Jemma was a brilliant biochemist, a tiny kernel of hope had been growing inside him that maybe, just _maybe_ she could do something to help his daughter.

She wasn't in her room. Or her lab. Remy sighed, closed his eyes and did what he should have done first – he _felt_ for the energy trails. _There_, a fading residual heat signature. He hurried that way, eyes closed, speeding up as he realised to his horror that Jemma had gone _outside_ – and apparently without taking a coat.

"_Diable_, bloody scientists never have any sense!" he ran after her, even more frantic to find her quickly.

Jemma had only taken two steps outside before realising she'd stepped out into a blizzard. Swearing, she turned back, only to realise that the door had slammed and locked itself behind her.

"Oh, shit!" Well, surely Fitz would come after her in a minute. In the meantime, she could huddle in the tiny porch for shelter. And no one would see the hot tears raining down her face. Wrapping her arms around herself to try and stay warm, Jemma leaned her back against the door and gave into wrenching sobs.

The door opened outwards, so when Remy pushed it open with a violent shove two minutes later, Jemma was sent flying, landing face-first in the snow.

"Jemma! Christ, _je m'excuse_," he knelt beside her, reaching to help her up.

"Don't _touch_ me!" she screamed, scrambling away from him. "Don't you _dare_ touch me, you and your lying, coercing tongue! You cheating _bastard_ you said you _loved_ me how dare you bring your – your _fancy woman_ here!" She hated herself even more than she hated him right then, hated the fact that she still wanted him, kneeling in the snow shirtless, the snowflakes melting on his skin, catching in his ridiculously long eyelashes.

"Jemma, it's not what you think. That's my _daughter_. And yes, I can see that it looked pretty terrible even though she _is_ my daughter, but she's really sick, and sharing energy by skin contact is the only way I have to heal. I brought her here to be safe with you and your team, and because I wanted you to meet her."

The wind was howling, the snow whipping around them. Jemma stared at Remy uncertainly, the wind taken entirely out of her sails by his simple, heartfelt words.

"Come inside with me. Please. You're wet and it's bitterly cold. Come and meet Anna-Marie – she should be feeling a bit better by now, hopefully." He held out his hands to her, getting to his feet.

Slowly, Jemma gave him her hands, let him pull her up, draw her back to the door. It had slammed shut again, but Remy put his hand against the locking plate and closed his eyes. Violet light shimmered around his fingers and the lock clicked open.

"That's a clever trick." Jemma suddenly realised how cold she was as the door closed behind them. Her teeth were chattering and she was soaked through with icy water after taking a header into the snow.

"Quickly," Remy looked at her pale face, and pulled her along the corridor to her room, which was closer than the lounge. "Get out of those wet clothes, Jemma, and into something warm before you get sick too." He didn't attempt to go in with her, just waited outside, passing his hands over his wet jeans and using energy to heat and evaporate the water from them. A footstep in the corridor made him look up, and he saw Fitz come out of the lounge with a strange look on his face.

"Fitz! Is Anna-Marie all right?"

Fit stared at him, ashen, and Remy started to feel concerned. "Fitz?" he walked towards the younger man, who had slumped against the wall – and then heard the sounds of sobbing coming from the lounge. "Christ! What happened – did you _touch_ her?" Fitz didn't look all _that_ ill…

Fitz's whisper stopped Remy just as he was about to barge into the lounge. "Soulmate."

"What?" Remy spun around. "_Répétez_!" Fitz looked blank. "Uh – say again? _Whose_ soulmate?"

"Mine," Fitz gestured at the lounge door. "She's mine. Only not, of course. Never."

Remy let out an impressively long stream of curses in half a dozen languages, cut off only by Jemma coming out of her room.

"Remy, what..?" Jemma said, seeing him standing over Fitz. "Did he say something… Fitz, that wasn't what it looked like…"

"_He_," Remy pointed a shaking finger at Fitz, "is _my daughter's_ soulmate."

"Now you know how it feels," a dry voice said, and they all turned to see Coulson standing in the doorway of his office, still immaculately suited despite the late hour. He looked at the shirtless Remy, the shaking, pale Fitz and Jemma standing uncertainly outside her room before shaking his head. "I really don't think I want to know exactly what's led up to this particular scenario. Your daughter is here, LeBeau?"

"Yes," he could still hear her crying, Remy realised, and turned away from the others with one quick, desperate look at Jemma. He was torn, but – Anna-Marie needed him right now.

He found her curled into a ball, sobbing her eyes out. "Oh, _petite_," he gathered her into his arms, suppressing the familiar wince of pain as her skin made contact with his. "_Ma pauvre petite_."

Phil and Jemma followed him into the lounge. Phil took in the scene – the pile of wet clothes, the sobbing girl in Remy's arms – and turned to Jemma. "Get her something to wear. Something warm."

Jemma ran. When she returned, though, a bundle of clothing in her arms, and approached Remy, he held up a hand. "Stay back."

"What's wrong with her?" Jemma backed up, looking concerned. He _had_ said his daughter was sick, after all.

"If you touch her skin, it could kill you." Remy turned his head to look at Phil. "I'm sorry, Coulson, I didn't tell you that before. I – didn't want you to say no."

Phil and Jemma shared a look, and then Phil gestured Jemma to sit down, taking a seat himself, watching as Remy coaxed the thick jumper Jemma had brought over his daughter's head, persuaded her to pull on the yoga pants. She seemed to have cried herself out, but stayed curled on his lap, pressing her cheek against his shoulder, though she did turn her head to look at Jemma curiously, surveying her from bright green eyes.

"This is Anna-Marie LeBeau," Remy said finally, when everyone was still. "My daughter. Anna-Marie, this is Phil Coulson, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., and Jemma Simmons." His voice softened on her name, and she couldn't help but return his smile.

"Ah'm pleased ta meet y'all," Anna-Marie said in a distinctly Southern drawl. "Forgive me, but Ah don't shake hands." She met Jemma's eyes. "Ah can't touch anyone 'cept _Papi_. Ah'm sorry Ah've made a bad first impression…"

She was younger than Jemma had first thought. Perhaps sixteen, seventeen? She wracked her brains, trying to think if Fitz had ever told her how old he was when his soulmark appeared.

"It's nice to meet you, Anna-Marie," Phil said, ever the gentleman. "And Remy, I do understand why you didn't tell me. Regardless, a deal is a deal and Anna-Marie is welcome here."

"Thank you," he closed his eyes in relief. "She knows how to be careful. She won't endanger anyone unless they do something stupid. I'll go buy you some more gloves tomorrow, _petite_…" he murmured to Anna-Marie.

"I've got plenty of gloves," Jemma said, "boxes and boxes of nice thin latex ones. I'll go get you some from the lab in a minute."

Anna-Marie gave her a small smile and a murmured thanks. Jemma couldn't quite help but ask;

"How old are you, Anna-Marie?"

"Seventeen." She seemed to sense the questions Jemma wanted desperately to ask but didn't quite know how to say. "Mah mother was a croupier on a Mississippi gamblin' boat. She and _Papi_ had a very brief _affaire_ and I was the result."

"I didn't know until years later," Remy said a bit shamefacedly, "when I ran across her mother, working in another casino. She'd given Anna-Marie up for adoption at birth anyway, but she told me thinking I might like to know. I tracked down her adoptive family living in Jackson, but she seemed so happy and content, I didn't want to get involved in her life. I, uh, _arranged_ for the family to come into quite a lot of money."

"And everything was fine, until I turned fifteen," Anna-Marie apparently decided she'd had enough skin contact, because she wriggled off Remy's lap and sat down beside him. "And my power manifested. I put a boy who tried to kiss me in a coma. By accident."

"We've found, over the last few years, that the survivors of the Weapons Plus program who had children, that some of those children inherited certain powers as well, generally manifesting around puberty and usually derived from the parent's. So Rogue's is actually quite similar to mine. It took me years to learn to control my powers, and I received them much younger." Remy shrugged. "We don't know if Rogue will ever be able to control the energy-leaching effects of her skin. And until we know for sure, we can't risk it."

"Poor Fitz," Jemma whispered.

Remy's lips tightened, and he cast a look at Coulson. "I can't say that I'm all that disappointed to know that he can't lay a finger on my daughter," Remy said wryly. "But at the same time – I'm sorry too, Jemma. Part of the reason I wanted to bring Rogue to you was because I thought you might be able to figure out a way to help her."

"Do you prefer to be called Rogue, or Anna-Marie?" Phil asked as Jemma tried to absorb that.

"Rogue. Ah chose it. It was better than the code name th' others tried to stick me with, _Succubus_."

"I can quite see that," Phil murmured. "Well. I'm sure you must be tired, Rogue. May I show you to your room? Agent May prepared one for you. We can stop by the lab and pick up some latex gloves on the way."

"Thank you," she stood, wobbled slightly, and looked doubtfully at Phil's arm when he crooked it.

"It's a nice thick wool suit, and I've a shirt on too," Phil said wryly, "I don't think I'm in any danger."

She smiled and put her hand carefully onto his arm. "Good night, _Papi_," she told Remy, and then looked at Jemma with a shy smile. "Good night, Jemma. Ah'm glad we've met, and Ah'm sorry that you got the wrong impression at first. Go easy on Remy, eh? He's never had to worry before about how his actions might look to other people."

The room was very quiet once Rogue and Phil had left. Jemma couldn't quite look at Remy, and then he was getting off the couch and coming over, dropping to his knees before her and taking her hands in his.

"I'm sorry," they both said simultaneously.

"I should have told you before I left…"

"I should have trusted you…"

"Should have thought about how that would look…"

"Should have known that you'd never…"

They were talking over each other, both apologising at the same time, until Remy leaned in and kissed Jemma. At once she was kissing him back, fervently, frantically, her hands sliding up over his shoulders.

"_Mon ange_," Remy moaned, kissing down her neck. "Missed you. Want you, _need_ you so badly…"

"Not here," she just about retained enough presence of mind to say. "Anyone could come in…"

"As already proven," but he stood, scooping her easily into his arms. "Your room, then?"

"You know the way," she smiled up at him, arms around his neck as he carried her across the room.

_Diable_ – the devil – colloquially 'devil take it'

_je m'excuse – I'm sorry_

_Répétez!_ – say that again!

_Ma pauvre petite_ – my poor little one

_Mon ange_ – my angel


	14. That Could Get Addictive

**Chapter Fourteen – That Could Get Addictive**

_Saving Abel - Addicted_

For a miracle, no one interrupted them as they headed down the corridor. But then it was about three in the morning and Jemma supposed they were all asleep. She should be tired too, but the very touch of Remy's hands on her skin was making her feel energised – alive and awake, and frantic for him to touch her. She planted kisses across his neck and jaw as he carried her, ran her hands eagerly over his exposed chest and shoulders.

"Witch," Remy groaned, setting her against the door of her room, pushing her back against it, caging her in with his arms and body. "You have put a spell on me, Jemma – I can think of nothing but you, of having you again…_ peux-tu sentir combien tu m'excites?_ Do you feel that, how much I need you?"

She certainly could feel _that_. He'd slid her down his body and she had literally hung up on his arousal, pressing hard against her groin and holding her off her feet, thickly swollen even under the denim of his jeans.

"Please," Jemma whimpered. "Please, Remy, I want you so much, please…" she put a hand down, scrabbled frantically for the door handle, trusting him to catch her as the door swung open. He did, of course, easily holding her to him, kicking the door shut behind them as he stepped inside. The moment he set her on her feet, Jemma whipped her sweater off over her head, revealing that she hadn't bothered to put on a bra when she changed out of her wet clothes earlier.

"Jemma, _mon Dieu_!" Remy's eyes widened, began to burn with that familiar red flame. "So beautiful," he marvelled, his big hands reaching out, tracing gently over her breasts. And then something occurred to him. "Are you wearing _any_ underwear?" His hands slid down to her waist, plucked lightly at the waistband of her trousers.

"That's for me to know and you to find out," Jemma said teasingly, backing towards the bed.

"Oh, I'm going to find out, _ma belle_. I still haven't seen my words on you." He stalked after her, feline in his grace, a predator on the prowl. Not that Jemma was making any effort whatsoever to escape. She backed up until she felt her knees hit the edge of the mattress and waited for him to come to her. As Remy reached her, she sat down on the bed and reached for his belt.

"You'll have to wait. I want a turn first." She unbuckled his belt swiftly, flicked the buttons of his jeans open. Thankful for her medical training and the time she'd spent learning how to most efficiently remove clothes, as she easily stripped them down to his thighs.

Remy let out a low groan as Jemma's slim, clever fingers wrapped around his cock. She used both hands, tugging lightly until he stepped closer, standing between her parted knees. She looked up at him mischievously, a slight grin curling her mouth, before she leaned in and licked delicately over the swollen, purple head of his cock, even as both her hands moved, one sliding down to trace her fingernails lightly over his balls, the other wrapping around the base of his shaft and pumping slowly.

"Jemma," he whispered her name softly, reaching down and cupping her jaw gently in his hand. She opened her mouth and slid it slowly down over him, flicking her tongue into the leaking slit at his tip, and then bobbed her head, moving both her hands in time with her mouth. It was by a huge effort of will that he managed not to thrust into her hot, welcoming mouth. Instead he stroked his fingertips lightly under her jaw, feeling her throat working as she sucked him deeper for a moment.

Remy was certainly well-endowed, but he was being a gentleman, letting her control how much of him she took in, which Jemma certainly appreciated.

"_Arrêtez_," he said suddenly, "stop, Jemma." He pulled back gently against the grip she had on his cock, and she reluctantly let him slip out of her mouth.

"What?"

"Good though you are with that pretty mouth," he stooped to kiss her, and then pushed her gently to lie down on the bed, "it's not where I want to come tonight."

"Oh!" she blinked, and then laughed. "You weren't that close…"

"I was about five seconds from spilling down your throat." He knelt above her, reached to slip her yoga pants down. Jemma lifted her hips obligingly, and Remy sucked in a breath as he saw her, because she was indeed completely nude beneath the loose pants. "Beautiful, so beautiful," he muttered thickly, sliding his fingers up the inside of her thigh – and then he saw it, right at the edge of her bikini line.

"Ah, there they are!" _You have a lovely voice, chère_. "Wow, was I really that cheesy? What a terrible pick-up line."

"You've spent twenty-seven years living with the words of a Kenny Rogers song on your arm, I am in no position to complain," Jemma said with a soft laugh that trailed off into a moan as he traced his fingers lightly over the inky lettering and then past, up into slick folds.

"A friend of mine thought it was an actual tattoo," Remy told her, "because I like to play cards. It seemed very appropriate."

"Nnnn," was about all Jemma could manage in response to that as he slid two long fingers deep inside her, crooking them expertly and circling his thumb over her clit.

"I'm glad your mark on me is where I see it all the time," Remy whispered, bending over her to kiss her breasts, flick her nipples with his tongue. "I can't think of anything but you in that red dress, singing to me, every time I look at it now. So fucking beautiful. Couldn't believe that I could be so lucky."

Jemma gasped and moaned as Remy caressed her expertly, his mouth hot as he alternated between her breasts, never neglecting one for long, all the while that wicked, clever hand stroking, chafing, urging her steadily towards orgasm.

"Remy," she cried out suddenly. "Oh God, please – _there_!"

"That's it," he whispered, rubbing a little faster. "Want to see you come, _mon amour_…" He leaned up to watch her face, and wasn't disappointed, as her mouth opened, plush lips parting to let out a low, keening cry, her eyes closing and her head tilting back. She clamped down on his fingers, sleek internal muscles rippling and tremoring as further juices flooded over his hand.

"So fucking beautiful," Remy murmured, awed. He kept stroking gently, moving up the bed to kiss Jemma tenderly until she sighed and went limp, lifting a shaking hand to push at his wrist.

"Too much. Please."

He took his hand away, knowing she'd need a few moments to come back down, and rolled to sit upright, tugging off his boots and the remainder of his clothes before lying back down and pulling Jemma into his arms. She rested her head on his muscular shoulder with a sigh of contentment, but it wasn't long before her hand started trailing lightly over his body, exploring the ridges and hollows of his chest and stomach muscles.

Remy said nothing, just stroked her back with the arm he'd curled underneath her, letting her explore him as much as she liked, even though the light touches were driving him wild, and it had to have been evident to her because his cock was fully erect, flushed and bobbing lightly against his stomach as he sucked in shaky breaths.

"Shall we do something about this?" Jemma asked finally, passing her hand over his arousal in one long, soft stroke from root to tip. Remy let out a moan and she did it again.

"Need you," he ground out. "Jemma, please!"

"I'm yours," she kissed his chest, open-mouthed, licking over one hard male nipple. "However you want me, Remy."

He groaned at the offer; she likely had no idea of some of the things he wanted to do to her! Nevertheless, he reached a shaking hand for the bedside drawer and grabbed a condom. She took it from him and rolled it on with clever fingers; by the time she had him sheathed he was shuddering and clutching at the sheet beneath him with clawed fingers.

"Remy?" Jemma whispered as he stilled.

"I'm about to be a really possessive asshole," he warned, opening his eyes and looking at her. She wished she could read his expressions by his eyes; about all she could tell was that the brighter the red colour burned, the more aroused – or angered – he was.

"Thanks for the warning?" she gave him a little smile, and then squeaked as he moved with superhuman speed, pressing her down to her back and kneeling between her thighs, taking both her hands in one of his big ones and holding them above her head.

"I want to _fuck_ you _hard_," Remy growled, "I want to pound you into this mattress until you're _screaming_ my name. Make it so good for you that you'll never think of any other man…"

"Shut up and do it, Remy!" Unbearably turned on by his words – even though he _was_ being possessive – Jemma hooked her heels behind his thighs and tugged frantically, desperate to have him inside her.

With her knees up like that, she was beautifully open to him. Remy didn't even need to use his free hand to guide himself in; he braced it on the mattress instead and kissed Jemma hungrily as he slid slowly home.

"_Tu es tellement serré_," he groaned, "so tight, Jemma, _c'est si bon_, ahhh!" It was a deep groan as his chest as he bottomed out, filling her completely, and he stilled for a moment.

Jemma arched under him, pushing her breasts up into his chest. "_Move_, Remy!" she begged breathily, "please – please move!" She tried to roll her hips, but he had his whole bodyweight pushing her down, and she could barely wiggle them, even tightening her legs around his hips didn't create any of the friction she so desperately wanted.

"_Attendez_," he gasped, eyes squeezed tightly shut, "wait – Jemma, wait a moment. I'm not going to last long, I need to bring you in first…"

It seemed an odd choice of words, but then Jemma saw a faint violet glow begin to appear on his skin, felt a warmth begin to build as it slowly seeped through her. It was an amazing, indescribable feeling – Jemma tried to analyse it so she could take notes later, her scientific brain ever at work – but then Remy started to move inside her and she forgot everything but how utterly wonderful _that_ felt.

He released her hands, braced both of his on the mattress beside her head for better leverage, and began to fuck her in earnest, making good on his promise of pounding her into the mattress. And Jemma loved every minute of it, running her hands down his back to grip onto his lean hips, angling her hips so that every long stroke hit with maximum impact.

Remy closed his eyes, hating to block out the sight of Jemma writhing and moaning beneath him, but knowing at the moment of orgasm his eyes would flare incandescently. He'd terrified more than one poor woman out of her wits before he learned that lesson. Besides, without his sight all other sensations were magnified. He could _feel_ how close Jemma was to another climax, feel the tiny fluttering pulses around him as he pumped hard, feel her panting breaths against his throat, the very slight pain as she dug her nails into his hips, encouraging him on, the brush of her hard nipples against his chest.

"Jemma," Remy groaned, driven well past the point of no return. He could feel the prickling, tightening sensation in his balls, feel them pulling up to his body, ready for release. "Oh, Jemma, _je jouis_…"

She let out a guttural sort of howl, hips bucking up, the wet passage he'd been sliding in so easily suddenly clenching around him, and Remy lost it completely, exploding in a hot, frantic rush, buried to the hilt in his soulmate's welcoming heat.

They stayed locked together, both shaking with the aftermath, for several minutes, and then Remy began to press soft kisses against Jemma's neck and cheek. She groaned, unlocked her ankles from behind his back, and he eased from her slowly, causing a couple of gasps of reaction as her internal muscles reacted involuntarily.

"So good." Remy kissed her once more, clambered off the bed and headed for the bathroom. Jemma stayed where she was, blissfully relaxed – although not tired at all, her brain wide awake and her body fizzing with that bubbly, caffeinated feeling again.

"That could probably get addictive," Jemma said aloud.

"Hm, what's that?" Remy came back in, slipped into bed beside her, pulling the covers over them both. "You could get addicted to sex with me? I certainly hope so, _chère_," he grinned, leaning over to kiss her.

"Not _that_. Well, yes, that _too_," Jemma amended, seeing his surprised and slightly hurt look. "The energy thing. It feels like – champagne bubbles and caffeine. Like floating."

Remy went very still beside her, and she turned her head to look at him. "What?"

"It doesn't hurt?"

"No – isn't that why you said you had to share the energy field with me? Because otherwise it would hurt?"

"Otherwise it would hurt _a lot_," Remy amended. "It's – other women have described it to me," he gave her an apologetic look, "as okay at first, indeed quite nice, but very quickly it starts to feel uncomfortable, like an itch under the skin, all over. Same as if I heal someone by putting the energy into them so that their body can heal itself – you know how a wound itches when it heals? It feels like that, I believe."

Jemma thought about that, rolling to her front and leaning her chin on her hands, propped on his chest. He looked away sheepishly, though he did put his arm around her, resting it lightly in the small of her back.

"Oh stop it, I'm not going to get jealous about women in your past, I already told you that. You better be careful _now_, though," she narrowed her eyes at him. "I was about ready to scratch poor Anna-Marie's eyes out for what I thought I saw."

"I know, and I'm sorry," Remy apologised again. "Anna-Marie is right in that I've never really had to worry about how my actions could look to other people."

"I know, and I get it. I'm sorry too, Remy, I should have trusted you and not jumped to conclusions. All I've been getting for the last few days is warnings to be careful about how quickly I give my heart to you."

"Mine is already yours," he said quietly, "but your team are right. You should be cautious around me. I'm a lot to take."

"You certainly are," she couldn't resist the lascivious tease, wiggling her hip against his groin. Her eyes widened with surprise as she felt him begin to harden again. "What, already?"

"I'm sure Coulson showed you my file – didn't you pay attention?" Remy grinned. "Superior strength and dexterity, apparently limitless endurance… didn't you think about what that might mean, _chère_?"

Jemma hadn't. She really hadn't. But she certainly wasn't protesting as he slid his fingers into her hair and pulled her face gently up to his so he could kiss her again.

_Peux-tu sentir combien tu m'excites_? – can you feel how much you turn me on?

_mon Dieu_ – my God

_ma belle_ – my beauty

_Arrêtez_ – stop

_mon amour_ – my love

_Tu es tellement serré_ – you're so tight

_c'est si bon_ – that's so good

_Attendez_ – wait

_je jouis_ – I'm coming (yes, that kind of coming)

**Lucky, lucky Jemma.**

**Just sayin'.**


	15. Thanks A Bunch

**Chapter Fifteen – Thanks A Bunch**

_Catatonia – Mulder And Scully_

Bobbi gave Jemma an absolutely filthy look as she walked into the breakfast room. Remy had gone looking for Rogue and promised to join her shortly.

"Thanks a bunch for the early wake-up call."

"Huh?" Jemma blanked. Bobbi tilted her head and smirked.

"Oh my God." Jemma blushed.

"I'm not complaining," Hunter, sitting on Bobbi's other side, snickered. "Meant I had a visitor at about four a.m. Even if she did bitch about how she thought it was just you getting your own back."

"Well I suppose it was, you two have kept me awake often enough!" Face scarlet, Jemma still came back with the snappy retort. Neither Hunter nor Bobbi seemed fazed.

"Who's keeping who awake?" Skye stumbled in, yawning. She gave Hunter and Bobbi a filthy look. "Apart from you two making like wolves howling at the moon at some ungodly hour?"

"All her fault," Bobbi pointed at Jemma unconcernedly. "She and Remy woke me up. I thought they'd be quick so I could go back to sleep but after an hour I gave up."

"Oh, Remy's back? Wait, what, an _hour_?"

Jemma hid her face in her hands and wondered why it was that everything that had to do with her soulmate seemed to end up in her total and utter humiliation.

"_Oui_, Remy is back," his deep voice said from the doorway, and he came in, his arm around Anna-Marie's shoulders. "And he has brought a new friend for you. My daughter, Anna-Marie – call her Rogue."

"She's Fitz's soulmate," Jemma whispered in Skye's ear as they watched Remy introduce Rogue to Bobbi, Hunter and Mack, who was present but as usual hadn't said a word. "But there's a serious problem…"

Remy was even then explaining, as Rogue shyly shook her head at Mack's offered hand. She was wearing latex gloves though, and after a moment Mack firmly took her hand and shook it anyway. She gave him a wide-eyed look.

"Poor Fitz," Skye murmured back, though she too insisted on shaking Rogue's gloved hand, as had Bobbi and Hunter. "It's lovely to meet you. So nice to have a new face around here. So do you have a specialty?"

"Technically," she shot a glance at Remy, who Jemma was amused to note had nearly as good a Disapproving Dad face as Coulson, "Ah haven't _actually_ finished school. But Ah do have enough credits to graduate, and Ah – well, Ah don't think Ah could go to college, but Ah'm quite interested in forensics. Detective work, that sort of thing. Ah was hoping that Ah could, well, learn on the job…"

"No better training than what you get on the job," Hunter said cheerfully. "Out in the field, that's the place to learn. I've no doubt Jemma and Fitz can teach you anything you'll need to know."

Rogue was smiling at his kindly tone, but it slipped at the mention of Fitz, and she turned beseeching eyes on Jemma.

"We'll be the S.H.I.E.L.D. _CSI_ team," Jemma said warmly, refusing to let the thought of that problem get her down. Remy had brought his daughter to Jemma to help her; and by _damn_ she _would_ help. One way or another, Fitz _would_ be able to touch his soulmate, if Jemma had anything to say about it! She set her jaw and smiled determinedly.

"CSI: SHIELD," Hunter said thoughtfully. "That totally needs a catchphrase. How about _We scrape up the gooey alien bits_?"

Everyone looked at him.

"No?"

"You keep working on that, Hunter," Skye said dryly. "Now – what would you like for breakfast, Rogue? We only have long-life milk I'm afraid because we've been pretty much snowed in for a couple of days and May refuses to let us take the quinjet out for a grocery run."

"Wait – how did _you_ get here?" Bobbi asked then.

"Drove as far as we could, and then the car got stuck in a drift and Remy carried me," Rogue answered. Remy, investigating the contents of the fridge, turned at the sound of his name.

"Yes, I better go dig the car out and get our bags later, hmm?"

"Yes," Rogue looked down at her clothes, smiled shyly at Jemma. "It was nice of Jemma to share some clothes with me, but…"

"You want your own things, of course," Jemma nodded understandingly. "Which reminds me, did anyone pick up the wet pile in the lounge?"

"My coat, too!" Remy put a package of bacon down on the counter. "I need that!"

"Ah'll get it," Rogue jumped up from the seat she'd taken at the table. "Could someone show me where the laundry is – Ah can start the washing?"

"I'll show you, but it's my turn," Bobbi stood with a sigh. "With this many of us, we have to do a couple of loads of washing a day. We've got a roster. I'll put you on it too, you can come help me after you've had your breakfast if you like.

Rogue smiled, pleased to be included, and followed Bobbi out, though not without tossing "Don't burn the eggs, _Papi_," over her shoulder.

"Burn the eggs, hah, cheeky brat," Remy muttered, though he smiled. "It's good to see her smile again," he said quietly to Jemma as she went to join him in the kitchen, although she felt a bit superfluous as he deftly cracked eggs into a bowl and started whisking them.

"She's been very unhappy?"

"School wasn't easy. She was at Xavier's – you know about Xavier's, of course?" he carried on when she nodded. "She has friends there, but – well, even if they're not quite normal in all ways, they have the usual teenage angst, insecurities and raging hormones. There was a boy."

"Of course there was, she's beautiful," Jemma said wryly, and Remy cast her a pleased smile. "She looks a lot like you."

"Now you flatter me," he put the whisk down, cupped her cheek and bent his head to kiss her.

They were interrupted by a teaspoon, thrown with lethal accuracy by Hunter, bouncing off the back of Jemma's head.

"Ouch!"

"Knock it off, you guys bitch like hell if Bob and I do that where anyone can see!"

"Oh, fuck off," Jemma muttered, blushing and hiding her face against Remy's arm.

"He's probably right, otherwise I _will_ burn the eggs and Anna-Marie will never let me live it down," a smile curved Remy's mouth as he picked the whisk up again.

Rogue came back in carrying Remy's coat just then, offering it to him. He shrugged it on over his bare chest – which only had the effect of making Jemma stare at him even more.

"We are really going to have to find you a shirt, mate," Hunter said with a chuckle as he noticed both Bobbi and Skye having a good look too.

"Ugh, you're all ogling mah _Papi_, stop it," Rogue made a face, which made everyone laugh as Remy started dishing up perfectly scrambled eggs.

"I'm going to go sort the car out and get our things," Remy said when they were finished eating, standing and laying a gentle hand on Rogue's shoulder. "Stay with Jemma, hm, _petite_?"

"There was another foot of snow overnight, you'll not get to it," Hunter said, shaking his head.

Remy laughed quietly. "I'll get to it."

"Want some company?" Mack offered unexpectedly.

Remy blinked in surprise, caught Jemma's eye. She tilted her head slightly, and he realised that Mack was making an overture to welcome him into the group, for whatever reason. Remy hesitated. He was a lone wolf; always had been. Even at Xavier's he had stood apart, though he'd stayed as long as he could bear it for his daughter's sake. "Sure," he said finally. "I can always use you as a snowplough if we get stuck."

That triggered a wave of laughter around the table, and Mack grinned and said he'd go and get his coat and boots. As Remy left the kitchen, he heard Hunter say;

"I know! _CSI:SHIELD. The Mulder and Scully of forensics_!"

Jemma choked on her coffee, but Remy heard Anna-Marie giggle and smiled. It had been much too long since he heard that sound. He'd done the right thing bringing her here. Even if there was still the problem of Fitz to deal with.

**Couldn't resist the X-Files joke. However, I have struck out on more witty CSI:SHIELD catchphrases for Hunter to suggest (and he totally would). So if you have any you think are good ones, please PM or review and your reward may be seeing them used in the story…**


	16. Taking The Tour

**Chapter Sixteen – Taking The Tour**

_Dire Straits – Romeo and Juliet_

It wasn't until the remains of breakfast had been cleared away and the kitchen wiped down that Jemma wondered what she should do with Rogue. Fitz was most likely in the lab, which would be her natural pick to take the girl, but – would that be cruel? On the other hand, Fitz had to know sooner or later that she was going to be staying here. Skye had sloped off immediately after breakfast and Jemma suspected she had gone to look for Fitz anyway.

Rogue was looking at her uncertainly, obviously waiting for her to act.

"How about I show you round?" Jemma offered with a smile. "Give you a tour of your new home?"

A returning smile bloomed at that. "Thank you, Ah'd like that!"

They started with the accommodation wing. Jemma was relieved to see that Coulson hadn't put Rogue in Trip's old room, but had instead used the one at the end of the corridor next to his own, between his and May's, just across the corridor from Jemma. She pointed out which room belonged to who and Rogue listened intently and nodded.

"That's Fitz's," Jemma pointed at last. "And that one used to be Trip's. He's a colleague of ours who was killed a few months ago."

"Ah'm so sorry," Rogue's green eyes were lucent as she gazed at Jemma. "How terrible. You must miss him very much. It leaves a hole in a team that no one can fill when you lose someone, doesn't it?"

She was very obviously speaking from personal experience, and Jemma nodded, thinking that the girl was far too young to have been through so much.

They looked in on the laundry, where Bobbi was methodically sorting and folding, and the gym, where Hunter was working up a sweat with the punching bag and paused to wink at Rogue, causing her to laugh slightly.

"He's funny," she murmured to Jemma as they walked away.

"The class joker, as it were," Jemma grinned over her shoulder at Hunter, who was probably the one person on the team who could be most trusted to put Anna-Marie at ease. He was already treating her just like he treated Jemma and Skye, as an aggravating little sister.

"Hey," he shouted after them, "I've got it! CSI: SHIELD; where the magic happens!"

"Hunter," Jemma turned round and shook her head. "I've told you again and again. Magic is just technology we don't understand yet."

"That'd be a good catchphrase too!"

"_No_." Jemma took a helplessly giggling Rogue's arm – she flinched, but let Jemma hold on, since she was wearing a thick sweater – and pulled her out of the gym.

Jemma pointed out Skye's office, Coulson's where he was working behind his desk, and looked up to smile at them, May's – she wondered where May was this morning, actually. "Did you meet Agent May yet?"

"Not yet."

The last office along the corridor was the one the Koenigs used as the base management office. Sam and Billy were both in there, looking around as Jemma rapped lightly on the doorframe.

"Hi!" Billy looked up and smiled when he saw them.

"You must be Sam and Billy," Rogue said with a tentative smile. "Remy's told me all about you."

"You're never little Anna Marie!" Sam's eyes went wide. "Look at that, Billy, she's all grown up beautiful! I remember Remy showing us photos of you, oh, must be ten years ago, when he first found out about you. Proudest father I ever saw."

"Really?" Rogue looked absurdly pleased.

They assured her it was true, and then Jemma gently led her on downstairs. She hesitated at the lab doors, decided to leave that for last, and turned instead into the massive hangar. She saw May at once, standing on the Bus's ramp – talking to Fitz, _oh dear._

Rogue froze beside her, and then she gave Jemma a brave smile. "I can't avoid him. We're going to have to learn to deal with each other somehow sooner or later."

Jemma nodded, thinking that Fitz had a habit of lashing out angrily when he felt hurt or upset, and if he showed this poor girl the rough side of his tongue she'd smack him upside the head herself.

As they approached, though, May clearly said something to Fitz in warning and he turned, giving them a slightly strained smile. "Morning, Jemma. Anna Marie."

"This is Agent May," Jemma said, "Agent May, this is Anna Marie LeBeau, Remy's daughter."

"It's nice to meet you, Anna Marie," May said with one of her cool smiles, though she allowed it to reach her eyes.

"You too, Agent May. Please call me Rogue?"

"If that's what you prefer." May glanced at Fitz and nodded. "When you have a minute to check out the avionics, Fitz, if you could look at that problem?"

"I'll get on it this morning," Fitz said, and then May turned and left the three of them standing on the Bus's ramp.

"Well," Jemma said after a moment, after seeing that Fitz and Rogue were apparently going to just stand and stare at each other, "since you're here, you'd better come and look around the Bus."

He should leave them to look around on their own, but Fitz couldn't quite resist tagging along as Jemma showed Rogue around. She kept glancing shyly at him from those amazing green eyes. He noticed her rubbing her latex-gloved hands together, and thought that she'd probably had those on for quite a while.

"Do those make your hands sweaty?" he asked impulsively, as they were standing in the lab. "Only, I have some cotton ones I use. When I'm doing electrostatic work. I have spares, if you would like some." He opened a drawer in his workbench, pulled out some white cotton gloves. "If they'd work for you? I mean, maybe you don't want them. I suppose the latex are thinner…"

"Thank you." She took the gloves from his hand, as he was about to stuff them back in the drawer. "The latex do make mah hands awfully hot. Ah have ones just like these in the car, but – well, thank you."

He smiled, absurdly pleased, as she peeled off the latex gloves and dropped them in a bin – a standard one, he noted, not a hazardous waste receptacle. Jemma looked at that too, and he cut his eyes at her.

"Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about your condition, Rogue?" Jemma asked gently, since Fitz was obviously dying for her to ask.

She stiffened a little, and then smiled, a forced brightness. "No, yah've got a perfect right to ask." Her eyes slid across to Fitz, and she said without prompting; "It's not dangerous unless you make direct contact with mah bare skin. Not a poison or anything like that. _Papi_ says maybe one day I'll be able to control the energy field like he can. It took him more than ten years, though, and he got the ability when he was only a child."

"Just the same as yours?" Jemma asked, leaning back against her lab bench comfortably and folding her arms. Rogue mimicked her posture, and Fitz found himself smiling as he watched them both. Rogue so obviously wanted Jemma's approval.

"Not exactly, no. It's both more – and less. Remy always had the ability to put the energy back out again, and Ah can't. It builds up, and it feels awful – it's _itchy_. But Ah can only absorb from people, and he can get it from everything if he tries." She hesitated. "So mah ability is less than his – but it's also more, because if Ah try, Ah can absorb more than just energy, life-force. Ah can take memories as well. Powers and abilities."

Rogue shook her head, bowing it so she didn't have to look at the shocked horror that she was sure she'd see on Jemma and Fitz's faces. "It's horrible. Ah'm like a vampire or somethin'."

"No, you're not," Jemma said firmly. "You don't need to do it to survive, do you?"

"No, God no! Ah've only ever taken from people by accident. Well, except for that one time, but Logan made me or Ah'd've died..."

Fitz's eyes went very wide, he turned pale and had to turn away, his hands shaking. Jemma ached to comfort him, but right now it was Rogue who needed her reassurance.

"Remy brought you to us because he thought we might be able to help you." She took one of Rogue's gloved hands in a firm clasp, noting that the girl had carefully tucked her sleeves into the cuffs of the gloves so none of her wrist was exposed. "And we're going to figure out how to do just that. For you – and for you and Fitz to be together, when you're ready."

Rogue blushed shyly, unable to speak for the tears welling in her eyes, and squeezed Jemma's hand gratefully.

"That said," Jemma said quietly, "there's no reason why you can't spend time together now, as long as you're careful, which I know you're _both_ going to be. Rogue's _seventeen_, Fitz," she pointed out.

"What?" he flinched.

"Exactly, and you're twenty-seven, so nothing other than _spending time together_ would be happening anyway, would it?" Jemma gave him a meaningful look.

Fitz mentally rearranged his worldview yet again, looked at Rogue's pale, hopeful face and said "Not considering how terrified I am of your father, no."

That made Rogue put her other hand to her mouth and giggle, her eyes sparkling. "That's not what Ah heard. He told me you stood up to him an' told him he couldn't take Jemma away…"

Fitz blushed. "That was one of my more idiotically suicidal moves."

"Ah think it was very brave…"

"And on that note, I'm going to leave you two alone – to _talk_. I'll be in my lab." Jemma gave Rogue's gloved hand another gentle squeeze and walked away. As she walked down the Bus ramp she strained her ears to listen, and finally heard Fitz say;

"I have to check the avionics on the right wing. Would you like to give me a hand?"

"Ah'd love to!"

**Good on you, Jemma, you've at least got Fitz and Rogue in the same location and not in tears. That's definitely a step in the right direction.**

**Small steps…**


	17. You're Mine

**Chapter Seventeen – You're Mine**

_U2 – Two Hearts Beat As One_

Jemma was just heading for the lab doors when she was surprised by the sound of the small vehicle door in the garage squeaking open. Mack drove a car into the garage and parked it beside Lola, Remy walking in behind him and closing the door, shaking snow off his broad shoulders and out of his hair.

_I really should go to the lab_… Jemma's feet were moving of their own volition, though, carrying her over to Remy, who smiled as he saw her coming, snapping his wrist and closing up a long staff he was carrying in his hand, tucking it into his coat.

"What's that?" Jemma couldn't help but ask.

"My staff." He smiled at the curiosity in her eyes, taking it out again. It looked like a metal rod, about one and a half inches in diameter and about eighteen inches long. But with a snap of Remy's wrist, it was suddenly nearly five feet long and glowing faintly with violet light.

"That thing's better'n a freakin' flamethrower," Mack rumbled, coming to join them. "He _melted_ the car out of the drift." He clapped Remy on the shoulder – Jemma had learned from experience that Mack could send you flying across the room with one of those friendly smacks if you didn't brace yourself, but Remy didn't move in the slightest, only grinned at the taller man. "Use me as a snowplough, my ass. I was just along for the ride."

"_Pas du tout_, I needed you to drive while I cleared the path," Remy argued back lightly. "I have trouble conducting power when in a vehicle," he told Jemma. "The rubber wheels don't transmit it well without melting."

"And this does?" her fingers hovered close to the staff, but she was wary of touching it.

"You can touch, it won't hurt you. It won't work for anyone but me, either. I worked out long ago that I could use this to store up charge for me to use when I needed."

The metal felt cool and slightly slick under Jemma's fingers, but there was no tingling or sparking sensation as she'd half expected. Not beyond the fizzy, charged feeling still running through her after Remy's lovemaking earlier, anyway.

"Y'know, I suddenly feel like a voyeur standing here watching you stroking Remy's big stick," Mack remarked with a snort of laughter, making Jemma blush and snatch her hand away.

Remy cracked up laughing, reaching out and putting his free hand on Mack's shoulder in a gesture of friendship. "Thank you for your help, Mack. I really did appreciate it. But – possibly you are a _little_ surplus to requirements just now…"

"Fitz is checking the Bus avionics," Jemma said, still unable to control her blush, "and Rogue is with him…"

"Ah, perhaps I'll go keep an eye on them, then," Mack said, grinning at Remy's instant protective-father expression. "Not that they'd be getting into any mischief, _obviously_."

"True," Remy's shoulders relaxed as Mack walked away, and he grinned wickedly down at Jemma. "Don't want to stroke my _big stick_ any more, hmm?"

"Stop it," she poked a finger into his chest, noting a little regretfully that he'd taken time to pull a shirt on at some point. "You're just trying to make me blush."

"You're so very beautiful when you blush, though." He telescoped the staff back down and stowed it in his coat, reaching to take Jemma into his arms. She pressed her face against his throat and breathed in the clean scent of him, pine and cinnamon and fresh snow.

"Your face is cold," he murmured, opening his coat around her and enfolding her in it. "Are you cold, _mon ange_?"

"It's freezing in here," Jemma admitted with a laugh. The huge hangar was impossible to heat. She hadn't planned to stay long and was only wearing a thin jacket.

"Then let us get you out of here." With a press of warm lips to her brow, he let her go, heading to the car and swinging a couple of large holdall bags out of the trunk, hefting them easily.

"I'll show you where to put Anna Marie's bags," Jemma offered, and led him back through the base to the room Rogue had been assigned. He set one of the bags down beside the bed and looked at her hesitantly.

"This is mine," Remy said, indicating the other bag. "Where would you like me to put it?"

Jemma blinked. "Well – in my room, of course? That is…" she was assailed by sudden doubt. _Did he not want to stay with her?_

"I don't want to push you, Jemma. This is, in effect, pretty much all my worldly goods at the moment," Remy shrugged. "If you think it's too early for me to be moving in with you, then now's the time to say so."

"Oh." She thought about it, realised that this was just Remy doing his best not to push her beyond what she was ready for, and smiled. "If you think you're going to be sleeping anywhere on this base other than in my bed, buster, you've got another think coming."

He smiled back at her, taking her hand as they walked back along the corridor towards her room. "I don't sleep, remember?"

"I don't care." They entered her room, the door swinging closed behind Jemma. "You're staying with me. You're _mine_."

The smile that lit Remy's face as she laid claim to him was blinding. "All yours, _mon amour_, yes, I very much like the sound of that." He dumped the bag on the floor beside the bed and headed towards Jemma, still standing at the door. "And you're all _mine_." It was a low, husky growl as he pinned her against the door with his body, warm hands framing her face. "You're still cold. Let me warm you."

"I should really get to work," she protested a little weakly as those warm hands unzipped her jacket, slid up inside her top.

"I'll help you get your work done. A little later." His fingers found her nipples, tweaking lightly through the fabric of her bra, and Jemma was lost. She fumbled at the door, finding the lock and twisting it.

"Just a little while, then…"

The smile that curved Remy's mouth was triumphant, but Jemma couldn't bring herself to care. She busied herself pushing his coat off his shoulders instead, unbuttoning the shirt he was wearing underneath. Frantic to feel skin on skin again, they separated and stripped hastily, eyes on each other, coming back together in a needy, hungry rush, hands and mouths seeking, stumbling over to the bed and falling onto it, Remy laughing as Jemma managed to elbow him in the ribs.

"I'm sorry…" she pressed her mouth to his skin where she'd struck him.

"I doubt you could hurt me, _mon ange_, shush," he rolled her beneath him. "It's me who has to worry about hurting _you_."

"I know you'd never hurt me," Jemma whispered, staring up into his eyes. They no longer frightened her, she realised, even though it would never be anything but strange to see that red glow where his pupils should be.

"I'd die before I let anyone hurt you," Remy murmured, _knowing_ that it was true. That Jemma truly was the other half of his soul, that he'd be incomplete without her. She was what he'd been waiting for all these lonely years. "_Je ne peux pas vivre sans toi, mon cœur…_"

Jemma moaned as he whispered lovingly in French against her throat, his hands tender on her breasts. "Please – please, I need you."

He nipped lightly at her throat and she shuddered, arching into his hands. "Remy!"

"Mm," he ground against her, his arousal pressing between her thighs. "I love it when you say my name like that, Jemma. _Répète_… say it again."

She ran both hands into his hair and pulled, dragging his mouth to hers for a deep kiss. When their lips parted, she smiled directly up at him and said in a sultry murmur;

"Make me," and felt his erection jump hard against her thighs.

"_Mon Dieu_, a challenge!" the red in his eyes flared again. "I accept, _ma coquette_." He pulled out of her grip and eased down her body, kissing and licking, exploring every inch of her soft skin. "Gonna eat you alive, you beautiful, delicious woman," he muttered, easing his shoulders beneath her thighs, nuzzling lightly into her neatly trimmed curls.

One long, slow lick upwards from slit to clit and Jemma was shuddering, breath hissing between her teeth. Remy knew exactly what he was doing with his lips and tongue – and like all of his other muscles, his tongue didn't appear to get _tired_. He lapped at her clit, beating on it in a swift, irregular rhythm that had her yelping out his name barely two minutes later as she came into his mouth. He laughed against her, the vibration making her jump and twitch.

"_Encore_, Jemma," Remy murmured, and licked again.

She was chanting his name over and over, her whole body flushed with arousal, by the time he let up, wiping his chin briefly and reaching for the bedside drawer, and _screaming_ it, uncaring of who might hear, a few minutes later as he pounded into her, flooding his energy and his seed into her receptive body.

"Oh God, Remy," Jemma mumbled, her voice hoarse from screaming. Her arms were curled tightly around his neck, holding him against her, and he was pressing soft kisses against the side of her throat. A faint violet glow still clung to both of them. "Remind me not to challenge you like that again."

"Did you not enjoy yourself?" he asked, amused, lifting his head to look at her, smoothing her tangled hair with his fingers tenderly. She was so beautiful like this, her lips swollen, eyes heavy-lidded with passion. She looked like a woman who'd just been thoroughly and pleasurably fucked, and a deep, dark part of Remy snarled with possessive triumph at the sight.

"I think you know very well I did. But I also think I screamed so loud the entire base heard me." Jemma was red with embarrassment just thinking about it.

"This bothers you? Ah, I see it does." Remy sighed, looking at her red cheeks, her downcast eyes. "I suppose we could always find you something to bite down on instead of screaming." He eased out of Jemma and headed to the bathroom, returning and lying down beside her with a contented sigh.

"Doesn't it bother you, that everyone most likely heard that?" Jemma couldn't help but ask, rolling to lean on his chest.

Remy grinned. "Not in the least. My possessive-asshole tendencies showing again, I'm afraid. I rather like the thought of everyone knowing I can make you scream like that."

"_Oh_!" Jemma let out a disgusted huff. "_Men_!"

"Don't be like that, _mon ange_. Take pride in your sexuality. You're a beautiful, passionate woman who is only just united with her soulmate. Your friends would be more concerned about you if we _weren't_ making a lot of noise, especially Hunter and Bobbi; they know how it is meant to be."

"I don't understand how they split up," Jemma admitted. "Neither of them will talk about it. They're not truly together even now."

Remy sighed, smoothing his hand gently over Jemma's hair. "I've seen soulmate relationships fail before, Jemma. Two strong-willed personalities, neither of them willing to give enough ground to compromise. A conflict of interest perhaps, one of them making a choice the other disagreed with. It's hard to forgive and forget, if your soulmate once chooses to put something else ahead of your relationship. Especially if you don't believe whatever that choice was, was the right one to make."

Jemma thought about it; she could see how it made sense. But she could also see how Bobbi and Hunter gravitated together, as though there was a magnetic pull there that neither of them could resist.

"That won't happen to _us_, will it?" she asked in a very small voice.

Remy sighed. "I can't promise not to make choices you won't like, Jemma. I have responsibilities I must live up to, secrets to keep that aren't mine to share. The only person I would ever put ahead of you for any reason is my daughter, though, and I brought her to you so that you'd understand that…"

"I do understand that," she said at once. "Rogue has no one but you in this world, Remy – well, Fitz now, and me too. There will be times when she'll need you."

"There will," he agreed, "but I will never put anything above your safety, Jemma. _Never_."

She kissed him for that, soft and tender, their lips lingering together before Jemma leaned back.

"I have responsibilities too," she murmured, "but I already know that if I must choose between you and my work, or my team, I will choose you."

"I will do my level best to ensure that you never have to make that choice," Remy promised her quietly.

"And I don't like it, but I do understand that you can't tell me everything – that you might _never_ be able to tell me everything." Jemma thought about it for a few minutes, biting on her lip. Remy watched her silently, waiting. "Can you promise me one thing? Can you promise never to make decisions that concern me, or _us_, without consulting me about them?"

"Yes," he said at once. "I promise you that, Jemma."

"All right then." She pressed a gentle kiss on his shoulder. "Then I can live with your secrets."

"I love you," he said, soft and low, and she blinked, a little surprised. "Not one woman in a million would accept that. I thought you would press me…"

"Why?" she shook her head. "No, Remy, I get it. S.H.I.E.L.D. don't have all that much information on Xavier and his students, but what there is shows they're a secretive bunch, and probably with very good reason, considering what you've told me about yourself and the Weapon Plus programs! It only makes sense that you can't tell me all about them; as you said, they're not your secrets to tell."

He sighed with relief, that she had made the intuitive leap. "Yes. Yes, that's exactly it."

Jemma tucked her head into the curve of his neck and they cuddled for a few moments before she said reluctantly;

"I really do need to get to work."

"And I promised to help you, did I not?" Remy grinned, easing out of bed and reaching for his holdall to get clean clothes out. He landed a light swat on Jemma's bottom when she made no move to get up. "Come on, lazybones. Stay there any longer and I shall be tempted to join you and make you scream for me some more."

Jemma almost opened her mouth to say that she liked that idea, but then realised reluctantly that she really did have work to do. Among other things, she wanted to take blood samples from Remy and Rogue and start thinking about a possible way to cure Rogue, or at least remit her symptoms. Reluctantly, she climbed out of bed and reached for her scattered clothes.

_Pas du tout_ – not at all

_Je ne peux pas vivre sans toi, mon cœur _– I cannot live without you, my heart

_Répète_ – repeat that

_ma coquette_ – coquette is the same in English, means seductress, flirt, temptress

_Encore_ - again

**Right: the next chapter's going to get a bit weird and spooky but it's plot progression. Trust me and hang in there…**


	18. Future, Imperfect

**Chapter Eighteen - Future, Imperfect**

_Poison – Something To Believe In_

Remy and Rogue settled into life at the Playground surprisingly quietly – except for the nightly noise in Jemma's room. It had one benefit in that Bobbi gave up entirely and moved in with Hunter, who was never seen without a cheerful grin on his face now. Skye bought some earplugs on the next shopping run.

Fitz, once he'd really thought about how much younger Rogue was than him – he'd genuinely forgotten that he was ten when her words appeared on his shoulder – realised that he wouldn't have touched her anyway. She was seventeen and she needed the time to grow up – even if sometimes he did want to forget himself when she looked at him from those huge green eyes and gave him that special smile she seemed to save only for him.

Remy was surprised to find how comfortable he felt among the S.H.I.E.L.D. team. Skye asked him for advice on centring and calming techniques as she worked on learning to control her recently acquired powers, and all the others seemed to just adopt both him and Rogue as though they'd always been there. Coulson even regularly asked his advice.

They were relaxing one evening in the lounge, a couple of days after passing a very quiet Christmas as something resembling a rather dysfunctional family unit, when Skye asked about Remy's fortune-telling abilities.

"But how does it _work_?" Skye asked in fascination. Remy was sitting on the couch, Jemma curled under his arm, Rogue on the other side of him. Fitz perched on the arm of the couch beside her, tinkering with some small bit of electronics. "Do you actually see stuff in the patterns of the cards?"

Remy shook his head. "Not like the tarot readers claim, no. It's…" He rubbed his chin in a gesture Jemma was coming to realise he used when he struggled to explain something. She pressed her fingers against his arm, and he smiled down at her ruefully. "I could probably do it without the cards, but I'm so accustomed to using them now, it makes it easier. They trigger visions – well, more _glimpses_, really. Sometimes I get a lot of information, sometimes only a little."

They were all looking at him wide-eyed. He sighed. "You want me to play fairground fortune-teller, don't you?"

"No," Jemma protested, "that seems such a waste of your gift…"

"It's all right. It's not like the visions run out or anything. Besides, I _should_ look. I've been putting it off, and I might see something important for all of us." He squeezed her hand gently. "Pass my coat, Fitz, would you please?"

Remy's coat was never far from him. Fitz fetched it from where he'd draped it over a chair, turned the lights down at Remy's direction.

Remy slipped from the couch to kneel in front of the coffee table, hastily cleared by Skye. He took a full pack of cards from his coat pocket and shuffled them deftly in his hands, making them all gasp at the speed and ease with which he flicked them around.

"If we'd seen you do that back in the barracks we'd never have played poker with you," Hunter said with amusement.

"I'm glad you did; I needed the cash to get out of the country," Remy glanced up and grinned. "I had no idea why I was there, you know. Just that I needed to go pull your squad out of that ambush you had no idea you were running into. Never figured I'd run across you here all these years later."

"Huh," Hunter blinked. "Well – thanks." Bobbi leaned her head on his shoulder.

"I for one am very glad you pulled him out," she said quietly. Hunter turned his head and kissed her brow, and they smiled at each other for a long, private moment everyone else carefully ignored.

"So who's first?" Remy asked, looking around the room, and to everyone's surprise it was May who spoke up.

"Me."

They all turned to stare at her, and she stood up and moved quietly to the other side of the coffee table, kneeling across from Remy.

"What? I'd like to be able to get a glimpse of something more than five minutes in the future, for once. Don't know about the rest of you, but I'd like to know what I'm walking into."

"Here," Remy held out the fanned pack of cards. "Draw one. Don't look at it, don't show me, just hold it above the table."

May obeyed. They all watched in silence as Remy set the other cards aside, and guided May to hold the card she'd selected so that it was balanced between their fingers, Remy's turned up and May's turned down.

"I'm going to transmit energy into you through the card," Remy said quietly, "and then draw a little bit of it back again, so that I take in some of _your_ energy. It won't feel nice, but it would feel a lot worse if you were touching my skin. Do you understand?"

May nodded. They all – except Jemma, who was very used to the sight by now – gasped as a violet glow appeared around Remy's hand, seemed to flash through the card into May's hand – and then blinked out.

"Ugh!" May started back, the card falling down into Remy's hand. "Ew, yuck, you were right, that was horrible!" she scratched at her fingers, rubbed her hand hard with the other one. "It's going," she reassured Coulson's anxious look.

"It won't have any lasting effect, not that tiny bit he took, not considering what he gave her first," Rogue murmured, and Jemma wondered if that had looked different to her, if she saw something the rest of them didn't. Remy was kneeling in silence, his head bowed, the hand holding the card drawn back to his chest.

"Remy?" it was Rogue who broke the silence, after a couple of minutes, with a soft whisper. "_Papi_ – what did you see?"

Slowly, he laid the card down on the table, face-up. It was the ace of hearts. "I really didn't expect that," Remy murmured, looked up to meet May's wide eyes. "Agent May, I'm truly sorry. I know who your soulmate is – but it's not my secret to tell."

"Remy, that's unfair," Jemma said quietly when May looked completely staggered. "May's – not as young as some of us…" She suddenly realised she had no idea just how old May actually was. The Deputy Director's beautiful, inscrutable face was ageless. She could be anywhere from thirty to fifty.

"I know exactly how old she is, I was there the night the words burned themselves into – my friend's skin," Remy said sharply. "I know what you're going to say to him, I have a pretty fair idea what he's likely to say to you in return, and if I tell you it could fuck everything up and _kill_ you, do you understand? I have to let this one play out by itself."

May gulped, unable to look away from the intense expression on his face. "I understand." She went to move back from the table. "Can you tell me how long?" she asked before she sat back down in her chair.

"Not long. There are – things I must set in motion, now." He hesitated, hands held out over the other cards. "Skye. I'm sorry to ask this of you, but I need you to take a card."

She gulped nervously, but knelt in the space May had vacated, followed his directions to draw a card and hold it just as May had done. Knowing to expect the pain, she tried not to react as violently as May had done, but couldn't suppress a grimace. It felt like mosquito bites all over her fingers, but she kept her hand steady, held the card still until Remy moved his hand, flipping the card over and handing her the jack of diamonds, a smile curving his mouth.

"Well, I could never have expected _that_."

"What?" she asked.

"I know your soulmate too. Him, I can send to you, and the sooner the better. You'll need him." Swiftly, he shuffled cards, dealt a row of five of them across the table. Jemma had no idea what he saw – to her the cards meant nothing; the ten of clubs, the three of hearts, the five of spades, the jack of spades – Remy's mouth tightened as his fingers brushed that one – and the five of hearts. For long moments he was silent, eyes closed, and then he opened them and looked at Coulson.

"I need to go. Tonight. Things are already in motion and trouble is coming."

"Here?" Coulson asked, businesslike.

"No." His hand hovered over the cards again. "Close to your hearts, though. Close enough you can't avoid it." He tapped a finger on the jack of spades. "You know who this is."

"I can make an educated guess," Phil said carefully, glancing at Skye. _Ward_, hung unspoken among the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.

Remy gathered all the cards – taking the jack of diamonds from Skye's nerveless fingers – shuffled them, dealt a five by five pattern across the coffee table. The queen of hearts landed in the centremost position, and he grimaced, glanced over his shoulder at Jemma, dealt another card across it. The ace of spades.

"_Merde_," he said aloud.

"What does it mean?" Jemma said hesitantly. Everyone else seemed too spooked to speak.

"That's you, at the heart of this pattern, Jemma. You're the one in greatest danger here, despite the threat to May." His finger brushed over the jack of clubs, directly above the queen of hearts. "This one threatens you. The only way to avert the threat – is me." He tapped the ace of spades. "But I can't be in two places at once. There's not enough _time_."

"Let us help you," Phil said quietly. "Tell us what you need us to do, Remy."

May looked at him, raised a silent eyebrow. He ignored her determinedly. Perhaps he hadn't trusted Remy at first, had been frightened of him, even. But Remy trusted them with his _daughter_. That kind of trust had to go both ways.

Remy gathered the cards, shuffled again, dealt another five by five pattern. Yet again the queen of hearts came out at the centre. "Jemma is the key, but _why_?" Remy murmured to himself. "I don't see it."

"Maybe you're not meant to," Rogue said quietly.

"Tell us what you see, Remy," Jemma urged. "Perhaps we can understand things you don't know about. Especially if Ward's involved."

Skye flinched at the mention of Ward's name, and Remy looked at her thoughtfully. Gathered the cards, shuffled them and held them out to her. "Shuffle and deal, just as I did, please," he asked her, and Skye obeyed, much clumsier with the cards, but laying out the pattern. Once again the queen of hearts came out in the centre.

"_C'est des conneries!" _Remy spat angrily. All he could see was Jemma, _his_ Jemma, in terrible danger, two dark figures threatening her. _Using_ her to get what they wanted… _ah_.

"Ward's planning to draw you out," Remy said, the visions suddenly becoming clear, the path he needed to take opening up before him. "He plans to kill… Coulson. And May. He'll take Jemma, force Skye to give herself up in exchange. He already has a hostage, and a weapon."

"What? Who?" several of them said at once. Remy's hands hovered over two cards, the three and four of clubs.

"A child – and a man with one eye."

It took a moment for them to put it together; Jemma got there first. "Deathlok. And Ace."

"Oh my God no!" Skye was on her feet immediately. May grabbed her arm and forced her back down.

"Wait. Remy, tell us what we have to do. You say Ward already has them?"

"He has the child. The weapon, soon. I can't stop that. He isn't expecting me, but it'll take both of us…"

"Both of who?" Coulson asked.

"Skye's soulmate." Remy glanced up at Coulson, and actually grinned, despite the seriousness of the moment. "I'm sorry, Phil. You're going to absolutely hate it."

"Why do I really not like the sound of that?" Phil groaned.

Skye was looking unsure whether to be excited or spooked. "My soulmate?"

"You know I'm not going to tell you any more, not yet." Remy gathered the cards, tucked them into his coat pocket, stood and shrugged the coat on. "I have to go. Now. The sooner I find him, the safer you will all be."

"What do _we_ do?" Coulson asked.

Remy hesitated. "I have to ask you to do the hardest thing of all. Nothing."

"What!"

They were too used to _acting_, Jemma realised as even Fitz reacted with outrage to the suggestion.

"You have to," Remy said quietly. "Please. I'm begging you, Coulson. No matter who you send out to try and rescue the child, it results in Jemma being taken captive and Skye giving herself up." He bent his head, and Phil realised to his astonishment that Gambit was struggling to hold back tears. "It will end with Jemma and May dead and Skye taken, no matter what you do. I can't – I won't make it in time to save them. You have to trust me. Please."

There was silence, May and Jemma looking at each other, then at Skye.

"There's a message," Remy closed his eyes for a moment. "Already on its way to you, Skye. Trying to tempt you out, to go rescue the child. You have to ignore it. Don't answer the phone, don't respond to the email. It will make him angry, force him into a mistake we need him to make."

Skye bit her lip. "But what about Ace? The child?"

"Not in nearly as much danger as Ward would have you believe. He needs the child to control the father." Remy frowned, unaccustomed to begging. "Please, Skye. This comes down to you. I need you to do this, to protect Jemma for me."

She nodded, unable to deny that request.

"It won't be long, I promise you that. Your soulmate is not an easy man to find, but I have an idea where to look. Once he comes to you, you can respond to Ward, pretend to acquiesce to his demands." Remy turned to Rogue, pressed his hand against her cheek to make her look at him. "Stay close to Fitz, _ma petite_."

"You'll tell me if you need me to do anything?" she asked. "If I _can_ do anything?"

"I promise." He hesitated, looked around. "Jemma – walk me out?"

It was obvious that they all wanted to ask more questions, and just as obvious that Remy was nearly frantic with the need to leave quickly. So they all sat, looking at each other as Jemma followed Remy out.

"Do you need anything?" Jemma asked nervously as Remy took her hand, heading for the stairs down to the garage.

"I need to tell you something important. I finally understand why I had to save Hunter. He's going to take a bullet for you, Jemma, and you have to let him."

"What! I can't do that…"

Remy turned, grabbing her hands, looking into her eyes. "Jemma, _listen to me_. He'll survive it. You wouldn't. It's going to hit him right in the chest, but he'll be wearing a bulletproof vest and he's taller than you. If he doesn't take the bullet it will go through your _throat_. I promised you I'd never make a choice that will compromise your safety; I promise too that I'm not lying about this. Hunter _will_ survive it. This is really important, please, please, you have to believe me. Don't tell him about it in advance; he'll hesitate. When the time comes, you'll both see the gun and he'll throw himself in front of you without even thinking about it, and you have to _let it happen_."

"Oh God." She pressed shaking fingers to her mouth. "I wish you hadn't told me!"

"Jemma, if I hadn't told you, then you would have pushed him back and _died_." Remy's hands were shaking. "I have to – God, you have no idea. I'm manipulating so many threads here, trying to save you all. The best outcome I can force is that Hunter takes the bullet for you and survives it, and May almost dies but I get her soulmate there in time to save her. Every other way someone dies. And it's almost always you."

"Oh." She believed him. The agony, the terror on his face couldn't be faked. "_Remy_." She reached for him, and he tugged her into his arms and held her tightly.

"I love you," he said against her hair. "So much. Trust me, Jemma, please trust me."

"I do."

"And don't let Skye's soulmate drive you too insane. He's an aggravating bastard but he sees things you can't."

"All right. Hurry back to me, Remy, please." She clung for a long moment, feeling his arms tighten even further, his lips press against her hair.

"I must go. Every minute now is precious. Stay here, for God's sake, keep Skye calm and _don't_ let her react to Ward's provocation. He'll try everything he can to force her into the open."

"Promise me one thing," she asked, as he got into the front seat of the car he and Rogue had arrived in.

"What's that, _mon ange_?"

"Promise me _Ward_ won't survive this."

Remy's smile was dark. "Oh, _mon ange_ – he will _definitely_ not survive this."

"Good," Jemma said quietly as she watched the car's tail-lights disappearing into the distance. And then she sighed, pushed the button to close the garage door and headed up to Skye's office, knowing she would have to calm her friend down, remind her that she couldn't respond in any way to Ward's pushing, no matter how worried they were about Ace Peterson.

_Merde_ - shit

_C'est des conneries_! – This is bullshit!

**Well, this all got very odd. Skye's soulmate will be on his way soon and then dat shit will be goin' **_**down**_**… but stick with me. I had an attack of the plot fairies in the middle of the night and I know where this is going…**


	19. Here Comes Trouble

**Chapter Nineteen – Here Comes Trouble**

_Pink - Trouble_

**So part of this chapter's adapted from one of the Soulmate Shorts I've already written. Loads of you loved this pairing together, for some people it's been their favourite, and I couldn't quite resist writing them in…**

Skye sat at her computer, head in her hands. Unable to bear looking at the screen. The messages from Ward were getting increasingly horrifying, the last one with a video message attachment featuring a crying Ace Peterson and Ward with a knife at the child's throat.

"It's going to be all right, Skye," Jemma said a bit helplessly.

"It's not all right!" Only the memory of Remy's frantic plea for her to stay put had held Skye there this long. And the fact that he'd been right about the message Ward had already sent. "You heard him; if I don't give myself up by tomorrow Ward's going to set Deathlok on a rampage in a crowded shopping mall and we both know Mike will do it for Ace's sake. And we have no idea _where_!"

Jemma's fingers tightened around the phone in her pocket. She'd received a message from Remy less than an hour ago. _Haven't found him yet but I've left messages. More help on the way_. She'd shown it to Skye and now wished she hadn't.

"Coulson! Why have I not been invited to join your Fun Squad? I'm bored!" It was an unfamiliar voice out in the corridor. Skye jumped to her feet.

"Oh, no," Coulson groaned as the loud voice echoed through the Playground. He got up from his desk and hurried to the door. "Please tell me that's not who I think it is…"

Bobbi and Hunter came rushing around the corner, both with guns out. "Who the fuck is that? Who's in here?" Hunter snapped. Skye came out of her office and he reached to push her back in, but she ducked under his arm, showing the ICER gun in her hand.

"What's the word, AC?" she asked. _Can't be my soulmate. Remy said he hadn't found him – must be the other help he mentioned_…

"I'm fairly sure I know who that is and he is trouble with a capital T. Mr Wilson! Show yourself!" Coulson said loudly.

"_Sam_ Wilson, the Falcon?" Bobbi asked.

"Definitely not…"

A man dropped from the ceiling. Costumed in a dark red and black skinsuit, he was tall, clear of six foot, and solidly built. His hands were empty, but the hilts of two long swords stuck up over his shoulders.

"Stand down!" Coulson yelled. Bobbi and Hunter managed to steady themselves, but Skye, younger and jumpier than the two more experienced agents in her current emotional state, pulled the trigger.

_Oh well, it's only an ICER_… she didn't even have time to complete the thought when there was a blur of steel, and blue liquid splattered against the wall.

"What. The. _Fuck_," Hunter spoke into the silence as they stared at the masked stranger, who now held a long katana in one hand.

And who had apparently drawn the sword and sliced the ICER roundin halfin _mid-air_.

"That wasn't very nice, if you weren't so beautiful I might not be inclined to forgive you," the stranger told Skye cheerfully.

Skye was so shocked she pulled the trigger again.

"Well, really!" Another flash of steel, another splatter of blue on the wall.

"Skye!" Coulson wrested the gun from her grip. "Stop trying to shoot him! Bobbi, Hunter, Skye, this is Wade Wilson."

"Also known as Deadpool," he sheathed the katana with a flourish. "Lovely to meet you. I hear you've been having fun, Coulson, and hiring _mercs_," a gloved hand pointed at Hunter, "why wasn't I invited?"

"Because you're a pain in the ass," Coulson responded irritably.

"Well obviously but I know for a fact, because I know lots of shit I'm not supposed to, that you've been going up against, let's call them, oh, _super-villains_. Because that's fun. And since your whole crew appear to be straight humans, even the Cavalry, despite what _some_ people say about her, you _need_ someone like me on your side."

Skye tugged urgently at Coulson's sleeve. "I need to speak to you _right the fuck now_," she hissed.

"One moment. Don't break anything or hurt anyone." Coulson pointed a warning finger at Deadpool. Who held his hands up innocently and started whistling _Patience_ by Guns 'n' Roses.

"What?" Coulson demanded as Skye shut his office door behind them. She was trembling.

"Soulmate," was all she could get out. "Words. His words. On my ass."

"Oh, _no_."

"_Really_?" said a startled voice outside the door.

"Super-hearing?" Skye winced.

"Apparently."

"_Shit_."

"Say it!" Deadpool opened the door and stared down at Skye, practically bouncing on his toes. "Say it, say the thing!"

"I really didn't _want_ a superhero for a soulmate!" was all she could think of.

"AWESOME!" he snatched her off her feet and spun her round merrily. "Because I'm not one! And you're _really_ hot. I'm ever so grateful," he added, turning to address apparently no-one on the other side of Coulson's desk. "Thanks!"

"You're certainly built," Skye struggled to escape his extremely muscular arms, "but would you mind very much showing me what you actually look like?"

"I'll just, uh, leave you two to get acquainted," Coulson fled. _Where's my Scotch?_ He needed to get very, very drunk. _Skye and Deadpool. Dear God. Could you not have warned me, Remy?_

"Sure!" Deadpool set Skye down, reached up and peeled off his red and black mask.

"Oh."

She'd always thought that the guys who fully masked their face probably did so because they were horribly scarred or something. This guy – was not scarred. He was extremely good-looking, with cropped blond hair, a straight nose, hazel eyes with intriguing glints of gold in them, and straight white teeth in a wide grin.

"Am I cute enough for you? Because really, you are _seriously_ beautiful. Amazingly exotic eyes and I _love_ your hair." One gloved finger raised to touch a lock which was dangling over her shoulder, and then moved away almost shyly.

"Do you always talk this much?" Skye couldn't help but grin.

"Often more! But you're so pretty you drive all the words right out of my head."

"Apparently not!"

"Sorry, I'll shut up. Are my words really on your ass?"

He'd shut up for all of three seconds before blurting out the question.

"Yes they are, and no, I'm not going to show you!"

"That's a shame, I'd planned to offer to reciprocate."

"My words are on your ass too?"

"Oh, no," his grin was absolutely wicked. "They're somewhere a _lot_ more intimate." He placed a hand over his groin. Drawing Skye's eyes down to the more-than-generous bulge there.

"No," she blushed. "They're not..?"

"Like I said, show me yours and I'll show you mine…"

"That is _not_ happening. Remy sent you?" Jemma had come to the door of her office, Skye saw, and was standing gaping at the two of them.

"I got a crazy message from the ragin' Cajun, yeah, didn't make sense. Something about some big trouble you guys needed my help with. Sounds like fun!" He smiled cheerfully at Jemma as he followed Skye towards her office. "Hi! I'm Wade."

"I'm Jemma. Remy mentioned you." _Wade_ had been one of the names of the children Remy had mentioned he'd escaped the Weapon Plus experiments with. Which meant that Wade, too, was a lot older than he looked.

"Now what's Gambit doing mixed up with you lot?" Wade questioned. "It seems so unlikely – _Anna Marie_?" his eyes widened as Rogue came around the corner.

"_Oncle_ Wade!" she broke into a run and flung her arms around him, though Jemma and Skye both noted that she was careful to press her cheek against his chest and not let her face touch his skin.

"Now I'm _really_ thrown, what are _you_ doing here?"

She looked up at him, smiling. "Remy brought me to meet Jemma. She's his soulmate."

"_What_?" he seemed seriously taken aback for the first time, turning to stare at Jemma. She blushed under his incredulous scrutiny. "Damn, Remy was right, he predicted that he and I would find our soulmates at nearly the same time years ago, I thought he was tripping!"

Jemma started. "Oh my God, Remy's still looking for you…" she grabbed her phone from her pocket and hastily started typing.

"Wade," Skye tugged at his arm, and he turned his attention back to her, devouring her ravenously with his eyes.

"Damn but you're beautiful," sidetracked again, he let go of Rogue and reached for Skye's hand.

"I…" oh, God, now she understood why Jemma struggled to talk coherently when Remy was in the room. There was a _pull_ between her and Wade that threatened to derail her thought process completely – especially with him looking at her like _that_.

"Skye," Rogue snapped her out of it, clapping her gloved hands together in front of Skye's face. "_Skye_. Ah know it's difficult but you have to focus. Remy told us that when your soulmate got here it would be time to respond to Ward."

"Yes," she tore her eyes from his with an effort. _Oh shit_ – now I'm going to have to tell my soulmate about my creepy stalker. Jemma seemed to guess at her dilemma, though, because she touched Wade's arm lightly.

"Wade. I realise this is a really inauspicious thing to do after you've just met your soulmate, but I need you to come with me to talk to Coulson. We need to tell you what's been going on."

He really didn't want to go, didn't want to leave his soulmate, Skye of the dark eyes with far too much pain buried behind them. But Gambit had long ago told him that he'd meet his soulmate in the middle of a crisis and that he'd have to put aside his personal wants and needs – and oh, did he _ever_ have _needs_ – for a little while. And this was Gambit's soulmate tugging at his arm, the Cajun's daughter watching him with her anxious green eyes pleading for him, _just this once_, not to be awkward.

"Fine," Wade capitulated – he could never resist when Anna-Marie gave him _that look_, and well she knew it. "But it had better be a really fucking good explanation, and when it's done I'm gonna go kill whoever it is that you need me to kill, and then you and me, we're gonna get to know each other, _capisce_?"

Skye nodded, wide-eyed, unable to stop looking at him until Jemma firmly shut the office door behind them. Rogue stayed in the room, came and clapped her hands in front of Skye's face again.

"Skye, Ah_ know_, Ah know what it's like, but yah really need to focus!"

"I just…" she trailed off, looking at Rogue incredulously. "How the hell do _you_ and Fitz _cope_? Never mind, don't answer that," as the girl blushed.

"Not very well," Rogue muttered quietly, but put her gloved hand on Skye's arm and pulled her gently towards her desk. "Come on, Skye. Stop thinking about Wade and respond to Ward. Ask him where he wants you to meet."

Skye took a deep breath, shook her head to clear it, and sat down. "Don't look at this. It's ugly," she told Rogue, who looked back at her from sad green eyes.

"Ah don't doubt Ah've seen worse. What are yah going to reply?"

Skye looked at the text of the last email, the last words of it. _You know you want this, Skye. You know you're mine_. "I'm so fucking tempted to tell him that I found my soulmate," she muttered.

Rogue hesitated. "Remy didn't say that yah couldn't. He said that yah want Ward angry, off balance, that he'll make mistakes," she said thoughtfully.

Hands poised over the keyboard, Skye stared at her. "He'd try to kill Wade immediately," she said, "as soon as he saw someone with us who he didn't know…"

"Good luck with that," Rogue's lips twitched. "Lots and lots of people have tried to kill Deadpool, Skye. Not only is he very difficult to kill, he also has a very unnerving habit of not staying dead."

Skye blinked. "Uhhhh..."

"Aaaand Ah'm sure he'll tell yah about that himself eventually!" Rogue said hurriedly, kicking herself for saying too much. "Look, it's up to yah. Maybe Ward targeting Deadpool would be a good thing. Draw fire away from the rest of yah. Ah promise he is about a thousand percent less likely than any of yah to be injured anyway."

Remembering the way he'd slashed the two ICER rounds out of the air, far faster than the eye could follow, Skye couldn't help but agree.

_Fuck you, Ward_. Angrier with him than she'd ever been before, she flexed her fingers and typed.

_Grant Ward, you are psychotic and delusional. I don't belong to you and I never will. I've found my soulmate, and since he ISN'T a pathetic, deluded stalker, I'm choosing him over you. Let Ace and Mike Peterson go. They aren't going to get you what you want._

She pressed SEND before having second thoughts.

"Wow, that was pretty confrontational," Rogue said, her mouth hanging open.

"Oh God," Skye started chewing on her fingernails. "What have I done?"

Her computer dinged and the email icon started to flash. Her hands were shaking so much she couldn't click, so Rogue leaned over and did it for her.

_You just signed his death warrant, Skye._

**I am so looking forward to seeing the Ward/Deadpool face-off, I CAN'T EVEN. **

**The only problem is I can't decide who should do it or how the nutbag should bite the dust. So I'll make a poll and you can all vote and I'll write whatever wins… sorry to any Ward fans out there, but Remy made a promise…**

**OK,**

**I created the "Grant Ward Cluedo" poll. It's on my profile page. Get in there and vote, I'm leaving it open for 48 hours only as I'll need to write it...**

**And just a warning, I need to get ahead in the plot, so it may be 2-3 days before the next chapter goes up… but you won't be deprived of my writing, never fear ;) There's fresh work on the way, so follow me as a writer to avoid missing any updates!**


	20. Get In Line

**Chapter Twenty – Get In Line**

_Matchbox Twenty – Mad Season_

"Skye!" Wade came barging back into her office, took one look at her face and strode over to her, pulling her out of her chair and wrapping his arms around her. "I gotcha. I gotcha, my darling. I'll kill him for you, don't worry," he soothed, smoothing her hair as she buried her face in his chest and trembled. "Coulson filled me in," he told Rogue, who sighed and nodded.

"Ah didn't meet the guy, but from what Fitz and Jemma have told me Ward was a traitorous murdering douchebag and now he's being a creepy stalker."

Wade's mouth firmed into a hard line. "He'll be a _dead_ creepy stalker when I catch up with him."

Jemma came to the door then, beckoned to Rogue, who went over to her. "Do we know where we're going, Jemma?"

"Remy just called. He's on his way to May's soulmate now, still won't tell us who it is…" she gave Rogue a narrow-eyed look, but the Southern girl just shook her head. "They're going to meet us in San Francisco. We're loading the Bus now, Bobbi and Hunter have already left in the quinjet, going ahead to scout a place for us to land. We'll be wheels up in thirty."

Rogue gulped, nodded. It would be the first time she went out on a mission with the S.H.I.E.L.D. crew. But she was ready. They were all ready.

"We've been prepped to go for days, as you're well aware, so Wade demanded he got to spend the thirty minutes alone with Skye."

Rogue looked at the closed office door. "Skye told Ward she'd found her soulmate. I think he was pissed."

"Good," Jemma smiled tightly. "He'll never suffer enough to satisfy me. I'm glad you didn't see Fitz how he was after we came out of the ocean, Rogue." She put her arm carefully around the younger girl's shoulders and led her towards the stairs down to the hangar. "But if you had, believe you me you'd feel a burning urge to end Grant Ward's miserable existence too."

Wade was aware that he had a bad habit of finding humour in macabre or unfortunate situations. But there was nothing fucking funny about the way his soulmate was shuddering in his arms, quite clearly fighting back sobs. He read the words on the screen over the top of her head and snarled silently to himself. _It's not me who's gonna wind up dead today, motherfucker. What kind of ass treats a woman like this? Even if she was _your_ soulmate it would be fucking creepy._

But Skye wasn't Grant Ward's. She was _his_. He'd never had anything that was his before, never in all these long years, and to find her under threat in such a way… Wade's lip curled in a silent, lethal snarl as he managed, for once, to control himself and stay quiet, just stroking Skye's hair and holding her against him.

"I'm sorry," Skye managed to get out at last, her voice shaky.

"What for? Not your fault there's a creepy freak fixated on you. Could happen to any girl as gorgeous as you are."

"For dragging you into it…"

"You can drag me anywhere, beautiful, preferably into your bed when this is all over." He gave her a shameless leer when she lifted her head to meet his eyes.

"Stop it, this is serious!" she whacked his chest with a small but surprisingly hard fist. He grabbed it in his and brought it to his lips for a kiss.

"I'm not good at serious. I am very good at killing, though. So let me deal with this bozo for you. For good."

Skye hesitated, looking up into his hazel-gold eyes. "He's my mistake. My failure. I had a chance to kill him and I couldn't do it…"

"I will have no such qualms."

"You don't even know him!"

"He's ready to kill me," Wade pointed at the computer screen behind her, and Skye turned, wincing as she saw the message screen still open. "And he's threatening Ace Peterson in order to force Deathlok to kill a whole bunch of innocent civilians. Now I may be a merc but there's some things you just don't do, y'dig? So let's go and deal with the twerp before poor Mike cracks."

"You know Mike Peterson?" Skye started slightly.

"We've met. Seems like a decent enough guy, your usual tortured soul, y'know." Wade rubbed at his chin. "I've been through the whole nasty-scars thing. It's difficult."

"What?"

"Never mind, long story, we have our whole lives for me to tell you some of the stupid shit I've done. But I'm kind of glad I met you now and not a few years ago or you'd probably have run screaming."

Skye had the sudden awful feeling that her life with Wade was going to consist of her saying _What?_ a lot. She resisted the urge to say it again.

"I'm – not running screaming?" she said instead.

"Good." Wade hesitated, eyes fixed on her mouth. "We don't have much time. Need to get down to the Bus, we have to go. But I want to kiss you first."

"Oh," was all she managed to get out before his mouth slanted down over hers and she stopped caring about anything but the way he felt, the way he _tasted_ as his muscular arms folded gently around her and his tongue slipped lightly between her lips.

They were interrupted by Sam – or possibly Billy? – Koenig opening the door and saying "Wade, stop kissing your heroine. You need to be on the plane that's taking off in five minutes or you're going to miss the big climactic fight scene."

"I'm sure the author wouldn't let that happen," Wade said cheerfully, grabbing Skye's hand and leading her out.

"What?" she couldn't help but say, utterly confused.

"I don't know what's in the plan but I'm sure you and I both have big parts to play even though it's technically a story about Jemma and Gambit!"

"What the fuck are you _talking_ about, Wade?" she almost wailed as they hurried down the stairs into the hangar.

"Attack of the plot fairies my ass, she's just making it up as she goes along…"

_No I'm not._

"Yes you are! You can't even make up your mind who gets to kill Ward yet and it should totally be me, because, you know, creepy stalker of _my_ soulmate!"

"Who are you _talking_ to?" Skye had the sudden, creeping feeling that Wade was totally insane. He stopped just before they got to the open Bus ramp.

"I see stuff you can't, Skye. Don't worry about it. I'll – try and explain. Eventually. When we get out of this crazy situation. It won't be a problem once the plot's finished." He turned and glared back into the empty, darkened hangar. "We'd _better_ all get out."

_Shut up and get on the plane, mate. _

"Don't call me _mate_. And you better let me kill Ward."

_To quote my favourite line from my favourite character in my favourite movie… _

_Get in line._

"Of course you like him best, you're obsessed with his ass," Wade muttered as the Bus ramp closed and he found himself the focus of several pairs of astonished eyes. "Medieval weapons specialist."

"Hate to point this out, but you're the one on this plane with two big-ass swords on your back," Rogue cheeked him.

"Katanas! Get it right." Wade put his hands up, caressed the wrapped hilts gently, almost as if to reassure himself that the twin blades were still there. "All right. So what's the plan?"

The Bus was rolling, moving out through the open hangar doors, the engines raising to a dull roar as they tilted in preparation for vertical takeoff. No one belted in though, all of them hurrying up to the command centre – except for May in the cockpit – waiting for Phil to brief them.

"Ward hasn't given us a location, but Remy said San Francisco," Jemma told him. "Which makes total sense because they can't risk Skye using her powers."

"Powers? You have powers, babe? Oooh, I love it, what can you do?"

"Absolutely fucking nothing, in San Francisco," Skye said grimly. "Should have guessed it would be California," she berated herself. "Any quakes there and we risk ripping the San Andreas Fault wide open."

"You make the earth move? Oooh, _baby_."

"Shut up, Wade, there's a time and a place for inappropriate jokes and this isn't it." Rogue elbowed him in the ribs. He sighed.

"There's always room for a good one-liner in one of _her_ stories _usually_," he muttered under his breath, and then slouched into a chair, pulled a long knife from his boot and started ostentatiously cleaning his fingernails with it. "Usually time for some decent sex before the shit goes down too. _Remy_ got to get his rocks off. _Several times_. But not Wade, _oh no_."

They all stared at the muttering, sulking mercenary, and then turned to look at Phil.

"He does that. Usually in the middle of… stuff. Look, just try and ignore it. I don't think he's _actually_ insane, if it's any consolation," Phil told Skye.

She looked a bit doubtful, but seemed to pull herself together after a few moments and reached to tap on the command centre surface.

"Okay. Well, we don't know much since the San Francisco tip came from Remy, not Ward, but with an area to narrow down things, I can work on trying to refine the location…"

**If you have absolutely no idea what the hell just happened…**

… **well, you might want to read up some on Deadpool. He has a habit of 'breaking the fourth wall' and talking to the audience, or the author. It tends to lead other characters he's interacting with to think he's insane. Which he might be, it's a little bit hard to tell.**

… **I'm not **_**quite**_** sure how I ended up having an argument with him in the middle of the chapter, though…**

**The Grant Ward Cluedo Poll will be up on my profile page for a few more hours (the Soulmate Shorts poll is down temporarily). At the moment everyone seems to be gunning for Fitz to find his inner hero, so if that's not how you see it going down, get over there and vote because I WILL write the one with the most votes…**


	21. Hurry, Remy

**Chapter Twenty-One – Hurry, Remy**

_Pink Floyd - Time_

**Just a note, because we've got 'Wade' and 'Ward' in the next few chapters, and I'm not going to call Ward 'Grant', I'll be referring to Wade as Deadpool unless someone's actually speaking to him and using his name, to avoid confusion.**

A new message from Ward arrived before they'd been in the air twenty minutes. He appeared to have decided to ignore the fact that Skye had told him she had met her soulmate, simply reiterating his demand that she hand herself over in exchange for Ace Peterson, at which point he would then tell them where to find Deathlok, who otherwise would start killing civilians in a crowded restaurant district during the evening dinner rush.

Phil dictated messages for Skye to type back, agreeing to his demands, and they had a few nervous minutes until Ward sent her an address in Oakland with instructions to come alone.

"He'll change it at the last minute to San Francisco, hope to have the rest of us trapped on the wrong side of the Bay trying to do surveillance on that address," Phil murmured. "Thank God for Remy: we've got time to get there ahead of him."

Jemma headed down to the lab, but she couldn't concentrate on anything and found herself just sitting clutching her phone. Remy had told her that he was inbound on another flight but he'd be about an hour behind them. "Remember what I told you about Hunter," he'd told her before he had to go. "_Je t'aime, mon ange_."

_I have to let my friend take a bullet for me. I have to trust Remy. _

A gloved hand came gently down on hers, pressed on her fingers. "Yah're going to crack the screen if yah squeeze it any harder," Rogue said softly.

Slowly, Jemma unclenched her fingers, glanced up at the younger girl. Rogue was watching her from those huge green eyes, her expression sympathetic. Fitz stood just beyond her, and to Jemma's surprise she saw that he'd changed into black tactical gear, a gun sheathed on his thigh.

"Why are you…?" she asked, gesturing at his outfit.

He only smiled tightly. "Another shooter's never a bad thing," he quoted one of Phil's favourite sayings. "We've been one down for a while now. I can shoot. I've been practicing. Maybe I'll never be able to snipe the wings off a gnat at five hundred yards, but I can shoot well enough at close range."

"Are those ICER rounds?" Jemma had to ask.

"No." His blue eyes met hers resolutely. "They're not. I'm not interested in taking Grant Ward prisoner. We've been down that road. It doesn't end well."

Jemma took a deep breath. "You'd better give me a gun as well, then."

"Jemma, you're not a shooter." It was Phil's voice, from where he stood framed in the lab doorway. "It's true that Fitz has been practicing, he's put in countless hours on the range over the last few months. But you…"

"Give me an ICER then, a taser, _something_! I'm not going in there unprepared and defenceless, waiting for someone to save me like some stupid heroine from an old movie if something goes wrong! I went undercover at HYDRA, I can do this!"

Phil looked at her silently for a long moment, and then he nodded. "All right. But I don't want you visibly armed. I need _some_ people who can blend in with the scenery. Find a small ICER gun that will fit inside your jacket and not be obvious. My taser's in the top left drawer of my desk, if you want that too."

As she stood and headed for the door, he added "Oh, and everyone wears bulletproof vests under their clothes. I'm not taking any risks. It's barely above freezing and foggy as hell in San Francisco today so you'll be glad of the extra layers anyway."

_Bulletproof vest._ Jemma stopped by the door, and said without looking at Phil;

"Don't forget to remind Bobbi and Hunter to wear theirs when you speak to them. You know Hunter doesn't like to wear one."

"Good point, I'll remind him. Go on, Jemma. Check the lockers and find one to fit Anna-Marie as well."

It was almost dark and bitterly cold by the time they landed, in an abandoned lot Bobbi and Hunter had scouted for them. They left the Bus's cloaking device on and Mack to guard it and man the command centre to co-ordinate their movements – about which he was furious but resigned.

"Don't die out there, Turbo," he muttered, giving Fitz a bear hug. "And look after our little lady." He'd adopted a very paternal attitude towards Rogue, who adored him and treated him as her personal teddy bear. He was so much bigger than her she never had to worry about their faces possibly brushing when she hugged him. He levelled a huge finger at Jemma. "And the Cajun will kill the lot of us if you get so much as a scratch on your hide – so don't."

"I'll try." Her fingers tightened on the phone in her pocket. _Hurry, Remy_. Jemma had the terrible feeling that everything depended on Remy's arrival in time, despite the presence of Deadpool, who'd been convinced to put on a long black duster coat over his sleeveless shirt and cargo pants, into which Fitz and Mack had hastily fixed some clips and straps to hold his katanas crossed upside-down on his back, the hilts concealed beside his thighs. Deadpool was sticking very close to Skye, who of all of them was the only one unarmed as per Ward's demands, though she'd taken Coulson's advice and put on a bulletproof vest under her clothes.

May came striding in then, looking as calm and unruffled as always, though a certain tightness around her eyes betrayed her stress. Jemma impulsively gave her a hug, feeling May tense with shock, though after a moment she relaxed into the embrace and returned it.

"It's all right, Jemma," May murmured quietly. "It's all going to be all right. Don't worry."

_Remy told me that the _best_ outcome he can foresee today is that you will _almost_ die, how can I not worry?_ Jemma didn't say it aloud, just hugged on for an extra moment before letting go and climbing into the back seat of the SUV. Rogue slipped in beside her, tugging automatically at her gloves, black leather ones today. The cold weather made it easier for her and the only exposed skin was the pale oval of her face beneath the long green hooded coat she wore.

Fitz climbed in on Rogue's other side, and Jemma was surprised at just how badass he looked in black combat gear. He handled himself comfortably, relaxed with the gun at his side. She recognised Hunter's lethal, economic movements, and realised just who'd been training her oldest friend.

"I hope you didn't pick up Hunter's habit of making smartass remarks as well as his shooting techniques," she said lightly. Fitz grinned across at her.

"No. I did finally come up with the catchphrase for CSI: SHIELD, though."

"And what's that?" Coulson, getting into the front passenger seat, twisted to look at Fitz with a wary expression.

"CSI: SHIELD. Whatever you do – don't touch Lola."

There was silence for a beat, and then all four of them started to laugh.

May got in then, starting the engine, glancing in the mirror at the three giggling in the back seat, and then across at Coulson, stifling his own chuckles. A slight smile curved her lips as she pressed her foot on the gas.

"Come on baby, let me take you for a ride," Deadpool patted the motorbike seat behind him. Skye sighed, tossing him a helmet. He gave her a quizzical look. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Wear it so that we don't get stopped by the cops?"

"Oh – all right then. Since you asked so nicely." He yanked it on, buckled the strap. Skye swung her leg over the pillion and he let out a little grunt of pleasure as he felt her slight body lean against his back, her arms sliding around his lean waist. "Mm. Feels good baby, but next time I want you to sit in front so I have that beautiful ass on my lap."

She pinched him lightly. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Wade."

"Very hard to have it anywhere else considering where you've got your hands…"

"They're on your belt."

"Exactly. Pretty much right on the danger zone."

Skye blushed, glad he couldn't possibly see her face, as she realised just what he was implying. He laughed, as though he could see her blush anyway, and gunned the bike off the ramp after the SUV. She tightened her grip with a gasp, felt one strong hand come down to press on hers, holding her firmly against him, and for the first time in a very long time, Skye felt suddenly, irrationally _safe_. She pressed closer to Deadpool's broad back, held on tighter to his lean waist. He put his hand back over hers whenever he didn't need it to control the big bike.

They met up with Bobbi and Hunter close to the on-ramp of the Bay Bridge, just in case Ward did demand that they go over to Oakland after all, but it was just a few minutes later when Skye's phone pinged with an incoming email.

_Change of plan._

And just as Phil had guessed – and Remy had obviously known – the new address was in San Francisco. Some fifteen blocks away, but they had an hour to get there and scout the location, an hour they wouldn't have had if they'd had to come across the Bay – _more time for Remy to arrive_, Jemma couldn't help but think, checking her own phone. The fog was rolling in thicker than ever and she wondered suddenly if he would be delayed, if his flight would be able to land. _Was he on a commercial flight? He didn't say… oh God, Remy, please hurry._

"All right," Phil said once they'd found a quiet spot to hole up three blocks away, in an old closed-down store, "you're up, Rogue."

She smiled nervously, if a little proudly. Since she and Deadpool weren't known by sight to Ward, the two of them were going to stroll casually, on foot, past the address he'd given them and scout it closely.

Deadpool had objected – vociferously and repeatedly – to being asked to leave Skye, but in the end it was Skye who had persuaded him to capitulate, with a hand on his arm and a quietly voiced _Please, Wade_. He looked almost as though he was going to start objecting again now, right up until the moment that Skye took off her motorbike helmet, wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a thorough kiss.

The rest of them all looked away tactfully. Until Hunter got bored. "Come the fuck on, we haven't got all night," he said loudly.

"Be careful." Skye pulled back from Deadpool.

"It's not me we need to worry about, babe." He stroked a gloved finger down her cheek. "I'll be back to collect on that promise."

"Promise?" she frowned. _Was he talking in riddles again?_

"The promise you just gave me with that kiss. Of a very hot and steamy night indeed. Remember, we're gonna do show and tell with our soulmarks later." He grinned wickedly, took Anna-Marie's hand on his arm and strolled out with a wink over his shoulder at a blushing Skye.

They walked quickly. It was too cold to dawdle, would look suspicious if they strolled along. No, they walked fast, huddled close together, Rogue's head almost touching his shoulder, just a young couple hurrying home in the chilly evening, well bundled up. Deadpool's trained eyes spotted at least five people who were hanging about far too suspiciously for the cold weather, though, and as they approached the target building he pulled out his phone and started texting, again a perfectly normal thing to do – if he hadn't been texting descriptions and locations of the lurkers to Coulson, anyway.

"Wade!" Anna-Marie's gasp alerted him, and he looked up to find they'd come face to face with a tall, dark-haired, very handsome man. He stood directly in their path, staring at them. Deadpool had seen plenty of photos of him that day.

"'Scuse us, buddy," Deadpool drew Anna-Marie aside, acting the part of a boyfriend quite legitimately concerned when some guy confronted them randomly on the street, putting himself between her and Grant Ward.

"There a problem here?" He tried to sound wary but unaggressive, though every instinct was screaming for him to draw a katana and put it through Ward's throat before the bastard could take another breath. They didn't know who was with him, though, who was guarding Ace Peterson, what orders might be given to Deathlok if he jumped the gun and killed Ward too early.

"No problem," Ward scanned his face dismissively, took a good look at Anna-Marie. He might have thought she was Skye, Deadpool realised belatedly; they were a similar height and build, and with Anna-Marie's distinctive white-striped hair hidden under her hood, he'd have needed a good look to be sure. "Just thought you were someone I know."

"Ah'm sorry, ah've never seen yah before," Anna-Marie said, flashing her huge green eyes at him. "Ah think ah'd've remembered _yah_." She gave him a shy, but blinding smile, and Ward actually smiled back perfunctorily before turning away.

"Were you _flirting_ with him?" Deadpool had no problem acting the part of the outraged boyfriend as they walked away. He heard Grant Ward's derisive snort behind them and decided the arrogant bastard wasn't suspicious.

Anna-Marie giggled into her hood. Once they were out of earshot – neither of them looked back – she whispered "Did you see his eyes? They were like a shark's. Flat, and dead."

"They'll be a lot deader by the time I'm done with him," Deadpool muttered, realising his hands were actually shaking with rage.

"Steady, Wade," Anna-Marie squeezed his arm gently. The passed May at the corner, her face half-turned away from them, scanning the next block. She nodded at them, and they both nodded back but kept walking, turning down the next cross-street and getting into the SUV at the kerb.

"Good job, excellent info," Bobbi murmured as she started the engine and pulled out. "You spotted two guys I'd missed on the drive-by."

"Came face to face with Grant Ward too," Deadpool said cheerfully.

Bobbi nearly drove off the road. Instead she pressed her foot down harder on the gas. "You can tell Coulson about it," was all she said as they headed back to their temporary hideout.

**I can actually hear the ominous music swelling in the background…**

**Something went unexpectedly wrong there for the SHIELD crew. Did you spot it? They'll find out their mistake next chapter…**


	22. Too Late

**Chapter Twenty-Two – Too Late**

_Metallica – The Unforgiven_

**WARNING: Lots of triggering stuff is going to happen in this chapter AND the next one, lots of violence, and people are going to die. Some of them permanently.**

**I PROMISE I'LL FIX EVERYTHING PROMISE PROMISE PLEASE HANG IN THERE…**

**(and congrats to opalgirl23, who figured out first what went wrong in the last chapter)**

Bobbi drove them straight back to the abandoned store, parking around the side on a patch of rough ground, and they hurried in the back door. Deadpool went straight to Skye, taking her in his arms for a hug, and she leaned against him for a long moment, closing her eyes.

"How did you get back here ahead of us?" Deadpool turned to see Rogue staring at May, puzzled.

"What? I've been here all along," May said, and then her eyes widened. "Coulson!"

"Agent 33's here!" Coulson realised at the same moment as May. "Did she speak to you? Acknowledge you?"

"She nodded – and we nodded back – oh my God, I can't believe I forgot about her!" Rogue clutched at her hair, panicking. She'd been briefed about the woman who wore a damaged copy of Agent May's face, of course, but that had been several days ago, as they had no hint that she'd been seen with Ward since San Juan and no reason to suspect that she'd be here. _How the hell did I forget?_

"Shit, that means they know you're working with us!" Coulson very rarely swore, and the fact that he did so now had several of them putting their hands on weapons warily.

Not that it helped them any when there was a sudden engine roar and a large black van came smashing through the boarded-up front windows of the abandoned store.

May, Rogue and Bobbi were directly in the van's path. Rogue took a glancing blow and went spinning to the side, collapsing to the ground at Phil's feet; he stooped instantly to help her. Bobbi was knocked off her feet and went skidding across the floor, crashing into the wall right next to Jemma and slumping unconscious. Hunter let out a shout of rage and leaped for her, crouching over her prone body, his guns out and firing at the van instantly.

And May took the worst of the impact, her slender, light body flying into the air and right across the room, smashing head-first into the wall and crashing to the ground with her neck twisted at a crazy, unnatural angle. She didn't move again.

Of all of them, Deadpool had reacted fastest, his preternatural reflexes quick enough for him to snatch Skye away from the front bumper of the van just as it would have hit her. He shoved her back into a corner and whirled, drawing his katanas and advancing on the van.

Hunter's guns clicked on empty. There was a moment of silence, and then a deep voice said;

"Stop right there, my friend. The van's full of explosives."

The driver's door of the van swung open. They all stared, snarling their hate for Ward…

… as Sunil Bakshi stepped out.

"Wait, who the fuck are you?" Deadpool stared in amazement.

"You're supposed to be in prison," Jemma said disbelievingly.

"Agent Ward is very good at breaking people out of prisons. Ah, Dr Simmons. What a pleasant surprise to see you here." Bakshi drew a gun from an inside jacket pocket and levelled it. "_You've_ been a thorn in my side long enough. I still owe you one for infiltrating my laboratory, I believe."

_He was going to kill her, and Hunter was too shocked to stop it…_

… or maybe not, she'd forgotten how fast and incredibly well trained the former SAS soldier was, because Hunter sprang up in front of her, and the bullet hit him right in the chest just as Remy had predicted…

… and Hunter collapsed atop Bobbi's prone form.

"Oh, no fucking way," Deadpool threw a katana before Bakshi could pull the trigger a second time to shoot Jemma. It moved with blurring speed, spearing straight through Bakshi's neck and pinning him to the hood of the van. "Count yourself lucky," he told Bakshi as the man gurgled a death rattle, blood pouring down his chest. "At least it was quick. You don't even wanna _know_ what Gambit would have done to you for trying to kill his soulmate."

"I know what I'm going to do to _you_ for trying to steal _mine_." Another dark shadow loomed beside the van, stepping in through the shattered front windows of the store.

Ward had arrived.

Skye was sobbing over May's broken body, ignoring him completely. Ward looked at her, his hand tightening on the explosive trigger in his hand as he held it up.

"Put the sword down. Or this whole place goes boom."

"It's a katana," Deadpool muttered, his eyes frantically measuring distances, calculating. _That's a deadman switch. No time, he's too far away, even I'm not that fast... _"Shit, you clever bitch."

"Who are you calling a bitch? Put the _katana_ down."

Deadpool snarled. And slowly, he let go of the blade. It clattered to the floor.

"Skye, come here. Don't move, Agent Coulson. I see you." Ward suddenly darted to the side, stooped and yanked Rogue up by the hair. "Who's this little madam? Recruiting children now, Coulson?"

Rogue struggled, fighting to twist her head, trying to get her skin in contact with his, but he put a knee in the small of her back and shoved her to her knees, twisting his fingers in an even more brutal grip in her hair. Tears sprang up in her eyes.

Fitz drew his gun.

"Fitz, no!" Coulson shouted. "The explosives!"

"You don't _touch_ her." Fitz said it flatly, coldly. "She's mine. Let her go."

"Yours?" Ward sneered at him. "That why she was eyeing _me_ up a few minutes ago, Fitz?" he shook Rogue like a rag doll. "You're not going to shoot me. You haven't got the guts."

Fitz's finger tightened on the trigger.

"Fitz, _no_!" Jemma screamed.

"Don't, Fitz," Coulson ordered. "You'd kill Anna-Marie, kill all of us. Don't."

Fitz couldn't move. Ward was _touching_ Anna-Marie, _his_ Rogue, his _soulmate_, _hurting_ her, and there was _nothing_ he could do about it. His hands started to tremor. Slowly, he lowered his gun.

Ward smirked sadistically and then flung Rogue to the floor, putting his boot down hard in the middle of her back to keep her still. He reached for a pocket and pulled out a photograph, tossing it at Coulson. "I picked up some extra insurance as well, Coulson. Just in case you were tempted to do anything stupid."

Coulson caught the photo instinctively, flipped it up to look at it. His mouth fell open with horror at the image there, the beautiful woman clutching Ace Peterson protectively against her as she glared at the camera.

"_Audrey_," he whispered.

"So stupid, Coulson. You thought because Loki cut your soulmark out when he killed you, and her mark faded, that she wasn't your soulmate any more. But her mark _came back_. She told me all about it, how she was convinced you were still alive somewhere, how she would never stop looking for you. When I told her I knew where to find you, she was only too eager to come along for the ride."

Coulson's mouth was working, but no words would come out.

"Bring them in," Ward ordered, and Agent 33 came in, pushing Audrey Nathan and Ace Peterson in front of her. Audrey was clutching the boy protectively to her, glaring back at Agent 33 – and then she turned, and her eyes met Phil's.

Nobody moved except for Ward, who drew a gun and pointed it at Audrey's head.

"Come here, Skye," he ordered.

"You bastard. You utter, utter _bastard_." She stood from where she'd been mourning over May's broken body, her hands shaking with fury. _No quakes. No quakes!_ Skye had to tell herself fiercely, feeling her power straining to break free. She clenched her fists, nails cutting into her palms. _No quakes. This is San Francisco. They don't need a repeat of the 1906 earthquake. Control yourself._

"Now," Ward smiled at her, "that's no way to speak to your soulmate."

"She's not your soulmate, you utter fucking lunatic," Deadpool growled. "Christ, and people think _I'm_ crazy. She doesn't have your words."

"I don't need words. I _know_. Come to me, Skye."

She took a step forward. Then another.

"Skye, no!" Deadpool spun to face her, trying to put himself between her and Ward, spreading his arms to protect her – and Ward shot him in the back of the head.

Skye screamed as Deadpool collapsed like a puppet with the strings cut, blood spraying everywhere. "_Wade!_"

"Who's next?" Ward swung the gun back to Audrey's head. "Don't make me say it again, Skye. Come to me."

Sobs tore from her throat as she looked down at her soulmate, dead on the ground. "You killed him. You _killed_ him!"

"He wasn't worthy of you. Come to me. Or I'll kill every one of them."

Skye took another hesitant step forward.

On the ground beside Jemma, Hunter and Bobbi both started to move, letting out faint groans. She crouched slowly, her eyes on Ward, touched them both. "Don't move," she whispered. "Just – don't move." Tears were pouring down her cheeks, she could hardly get the words out to warn them, to tell them to be still.

_You're too late, Remy. Too late._

**I'm SORRY I promise I WILL fix everything hang in there…**

**(wow, that's some big-ass action sequence I wrote right there, huh?)**

**Audrey Nathan is the Cellist, BTW. For those of you who didn't watch Agents of SHIELD (and WHY haven't you, it's AWESOME), she appeared in Season 1 episode 19, **_**The Only Light In The Darkness**_**, and was portrayed by the beautiful Amy Acker. Phil never allowed her to find out that he was alive, but the fear and love he had for her when she was in danger from **_**her**_** creepy stalker Blackout was very clear, as was her grief and poignant longing for him. I always knew at some point I'd need to write them back together – and this is it.**

**Incidentally, the results of the Grant Ward Cluedo Poll were as follows:**

**Total votes 101 and THANK YOU all for taking the time to vote!**

Ward tries to take Rogue hostage and Fitz totally shoots him in the head, even as Ward tells him he's too sissy to do it: 33 votes

Deadpool turns him into little diced pieces when Ward tries to kill him in a jealous rage: 31 votes

Skye shoots him properly in the head, which she should totally have done in San Juan: 18 votes

Remy does something unpleasantly explosive to him, as payback for him nearly killing Jemma and Fitz that one time: 10 votes

May, as he stabs her (he has to stab her for the story), stabs him rather more lethally: 7 votes

Deathlok kills him while rescuing Ace: 2 votes

**Since the top two got over 60% of the vote between them and they were really close in popularity, I did my best to make both of them happen – I hope you'll find the next chapter as satisfying as I do – and yes, none of it happens **_**quite**_** the way I suggested in the Poll. You don't want me to give EVERYTHING away, do you?**


	23. It's A Bomb

**Chapter Twenty-Three – It's A Bomb**

_Phil Collins – Against All Odds_

_This is really not a good situation, Papi. Where the fuck are you?_

Of them all, perhaps at that point Rogue was the only one who still held onto hope. And the only one close enough to Ward to maybe, just maybe, do something about the bastard. Flat on her front with his boot on her spine wasn't exactly ideal, but maybe… she started to wiggle the fingers on her left hand, the one out of sight behind his back, edging her hand slowly out of her glove. She was facing away from the rest of them, looking out under the van, so she was the only one who saw three pairs of boots suddenly land flat on the ground directly behind it. Not walk up, not run up. _Land_.

_Well it's about fucking time!_ Her glove finally came off. _I really hope you've got a plan for this, Papi_… because she could see the gun swinging to point at Fitz. And she was _not_ going to let that happen.

"I'll fucking make sure of you this time round," Ward said to Fitz, his eyes glittering. And then – he faltered, his face paling.

Rogue had twisted her arm painfully up behind her back, shoved her hand up his pants leg and grabbed his ankle, focussing as hard as she could on _ripping_ the life out of him. She screamed with the pain of it and Fitz's hand came up instinctively, gun lining up on Ward's head, his index finger depressing the trigger even as he shouted her name.

The impact of the bullet threw Ward back off Rogue, dragged his leg away from her hand. Three huge figures leaped past her as she made a frantic grab for the falling deadman switch, but it was too late, the switch clicked up as Ward's thumb popped off the trigger…

"What did I miss?" Deadpool opened his eyes and grabbed instinctively for the katana he saw lying right in front of his face. He twisted up to his feet too fast for almost everyone else in the room to follow, saw Ward's body falling to the ground in what looked, to him, like slow-motion, and struck.

The already-mangled head parted from Ward's shoulders and bounced across the room.

Deathlok flung Agent 33 away from the hostages. She hit the side of the van with a thud and slumped to the ground. The scarred, half-cybernetic man snatched Ace from Audrey's arms and hunched protectively over his son. Almost as fast as the enhanced soldier moved, Audrey was flinging herself at Phil, screaming his name. He caught her, twisting around, trying to shelter her under his body, already knowing it was too late. They were all going to die here.

"_It's a bomb!_" Jemma screamed as she saw Remy, pointing towards the van. He froze mid-stride, dawning realisation on his face, and whirled around, leaping back towards the van and spreading his arms, almost as though to embrace it.

"_Remy!_" he heard her scream behind him, but he could only focus on the _energy_, the _huge_ force of the explosion even now taking place under his hands, trying to contain it, trying to save _Jemma_…

The third man who'd entered the store with Remy and Deathlok let out a shout and spread gigantic, metallic wings like a huge shield, sheltering them all from the light that blazed suddenly behind him, grabbing Rogue up from the floor and hiding her behind his body.

"Warren!" she screamed. He let out a roar as the explosion battered at his wings and back, and then the light went out.

"_Remy!_" it was a wail of terror as Jemma raced across the room. She had no idea how the winged man – an _angel_? – was that _seriously_ an _angel_? – had shielded them all from the explosion, but Remy had been on the _wrong side_ of those enormous wings.

The wings folded up to let her pass and Jemma saw him.

Remy was _floating_, his feet a foot off the ground, glowing a deep purple colour all over, his back arched, his mouth open in a soundless rictus of agony. The van – and Agent 33 and Sunil Bakshi's bodies – no longer _existed_; there were just small piles of charred ash on the ground, Deadpool's katana glimmering silver in the blackness.

"Don't touch him!" the winged man shouted, grabbing Jemma's arm as she reached out. "He's taken in too much power, touch him now and he'd burn you to a crisp!"

"Warren," Rogue clutched at him. "Help him!"

"I can't. It's the wrong kind of power; he could destroy even me." The being known as Archangel looked down at her with compassion in his eyes. "Only you can help him now, Rogue."

She never hesitated, just hurried to her father, the man who'd accepted her unconditionally even though her birth been a complete accident, who bore what she _knew_ was excruciating pain without so much as a flinch for her sake. Took his hand in hers and reached out, taking the power into herself, trying to spare him the burden.

"Rogue!" Fitz shouted, stumbling forward, shoving his gun back into its holster. Jemma clutched at him, and then strong hands came down on both their shoulders as Archangel steadied them, held them both still so that they could only watch.

_Oh. Oh, this is – different._

They all watched in awe as Rogue floated up into the air as well, the purple glow spreading to include her.

_Is this how it always feels to you, Papi? It's – good. It doesn't hurt…_

Remy's eyes blinked open, burning red on black, focussed on her face as his scream died. "Anna-Marie," he whispered through cracked, burned lips. "Don't – too much…"

"But it _isn't_!" an incredulous smile curved her face. "It's enough. It's finally _enough_!" he didn't understand, she could see, but she _finally_ understood. Her body had _needed_ this boost, this huge influx of energy. She'd been slowly dying of thirst before, her body greedily grabbing at the only energy it knew how to process, but now she _understood_. She could take in energy from _anywhere_, just like Remy did. She let go of his hand and reached out, gathering a few of the stray threads of energy from the air around them, watching in wonder as her skin absorbed them.

"That's it," Remy whispered, watching, knowing that no one else could possibly see – except perhaps Archangel, who was watching them with a smile on his face. "That's it, _ma petite_, you have it!"

"Yes…" she reached back to touch his hand again and he smiled as, for the first time since her power manifested, she touched him without drawing energy. "I can _touch_!"

"You can, _ma petite_." He smiled down at her. They'd both settled back to the ground at some point, neither of them noticing, and his body was already healing the damage done to it by the overflow of the explosion, the part he'd been unable to contain. He'd taken in too much as it was; only Rogue's intervention had saved him from shattering beneath the strain.

Of course, he should have known what would happen next. She broke away from him and ran straight to Fitz, who never flinched, just reached to take her in his arms. Her fingers came up to brush his cheek wonderingly, nervously – and then she kissed him.

For a long moment their lips clung softly together, and then Fitz deepened the kiss, his arms tightening around Rogue.

"Now is not the moment to go all protective-father," Warren said warningly, causing Remy to smile ruefully. He looked at Jemma instead of his daughter entwined with her beloved, at Jemma's pale face, the tears streaking down it as she stared at him.

"_Mon ange,_ _Dieu merci, tu es sûr!_" He started towards her, and blinked with surprise when she burst into sobs, pummelling at his chest with her small fists as he reached to take her into his arms.

"You're too late. _You're too late_!"

"What… oh," Remy looked past her, at the little group kneeling at the back of the wrecked building. Skye, Hunter and Bobbi crouched over May's body, Deadpool standing beside them, katana in hand. Deadpool met his eyes and shook his head. "No! I saw…"

"You promised you'd be in time," Jemma sobbed, "that he'd _save_ her!"

Archangel strode forward, and such was his imposing presence that even Skye shrank back before him as he knelt beside May, his hand going to tenderly caress her cheek, before he lifted her gently into his arms and stood, walking out of the wrecked building, standing in the empty street with the dead woman in his arms.

A single crystalline tear fell from one blue eye to fall on May's face.

_Mon ange,_ _Dieu merci, tu es sûr – _my angel, thank God you're safe

**I know I didn't fix it yet but it's so dramatic I couldn't help myself…**

**This is a different version of Angel to the young Warren Worthington III we met recently in the Soulmate Shorts, obviously. Angel evolves later in his life (and in this version, he's as old as Remy, remember) into Archangel, his white feathered wings replaced with metallic ones. He's a very powerful being indeed.**

**Rogue also gains control over her powers later in life, when Xavier breaks through her mental block. I liked my way better ;)**


	24. It's Not Fair

**Chapter Twenty-Four – It's Not Fair**

_Sarah McLachlan – Angel_

They all followed the winged man as he walked out carrying May's body. Those of them that didn't know him were silently praying that he truly was an angel, hoping for a miracle.

"I'm so sorry," Remy said softly as Warren passed him, seeing the faint glaze of tears in his friend's eyes. Warren could heal terrible wounds – but death was beyond even his power to breach.

"Shit, Remy," Deadpool said softly at his shoulder. "She was his soulmate?"

"She was meant to be. I don't _understand_ – I saw them together, everything went just as it was supposed to – sorry Ward killed you, by the way…"

"I'm quite glad you didn't warn me about that, I'd probably have fucked everything up," Deadpool said with a wry smile. "I – might have anyway, I think Rogue and I accidentally gave them away…"

Remy shook his head. "No. No, this is what I saw, this place, right here. I didn't quite get what was happening with the van and the bomb until just now, though. Probably because it nearly killed me."

"Nearly killed everyone. You did well, Remy, that bastard nearly did for us all."

He shook his head, grief-filled. "May was supposed to be for _Warren_. He's suffered so much, more than any of us. It's not _fair_."

"May suffered more than any of us, too," it was Coulson's voice, cracking with grief, and Remy looked at the other man to see tears on his face too, even as he held a trembling, sobbing Audrey tightly against him. "She gave everything she had to S.H.I.E.L.D., and then I asked her to give some more…"

Out in the street, under the dark, foggy sky, Archangel turned his face up to the night and _screamed_, an agonised, broken howl of loss.

"Wait," Jemma said suddenly. "Wait! Wade, you can come back from being dead, right?"

"Just did, yeah."

"If Rogue could take that power from you and give it to May…"

They stared at her wide-eyed, and suddenly they were all racing out into the street, shouting for Warren to stop even as he spread his wings and prepared to take off, May's body dangling limply in his arms.

"Stop! Stop, I think I can maybe bring her back!" Rogue grabbed Deadpool's hand. He sucked in a deep breath as he felt _something_ leech out of him – not life-energy, not the usual agonising pain of Rogue's touch, but something else entirely.

"Don't get killed for a while," she told him, and then turned to Warren, holding her hand out. Only Warren, Rogue and Remy could see the glowing silvery light around her fingers. "Wade's ability to come back from the dead," Rogue said, looking up into Warren's blue eyes. "You'll have to heal her, though, her neck's still broken…"

Warren knelt, laying May gently on the ground, easing her neck gently into something like the position it should be. He pulled a knife from his boot and drew it along his forearm, opened a matching cut on May's arm and pressed the two wounds together. "You do your part. I'll do mine."

"Please work," Rogue whispered, pressing her glowing hand to May's cheek. "Please work." She'd stolen abilities before, but she'd never been able to share them. She'd never been able to do anything with energy apart from leech it in uncontrollably until now, either…

The silvery light sank into May's face. For long, agonising moments nothing happened. Another tear fell from Warren's eye, splashed on her still cheek. Something in her face changed, shifted slightly. Rogue, the only one close enough to see, gasped, her mouth falling open in astonishment.

And then May coughed. Blinked her eyes open, stared at the blond man crouching over her, his huge wings arched protectively above her.

"Good grief, I really did get to go to heaven," she said in very surprised tones.

He laughed, a soft, husky, very relieved chuckle. "Not yet, dearest. Not yet."

"_What?_" her eyes travelled over him disbelievingly. Over the youthful face, those _impossible_ wings. "You can't _possibly_ be my soulmate. You're _young_. I was _born_ with my words."

He smiled, not a wrinkle appearing at the corners of his eyes. "They appeared on me when I was in my teens. 'Bout fifty years ago, I think."

"Oh." She stared up at him, already grieving. "You're _immortal_. You don't want me. I'm an old woman…"

"Melinda May." He lifted her hands to his lips, kissed both her palms, grinned at her. "You weren't. You certainly aren't now."

"What?" she blinked uncertainly. Realised that they were in the centre of a ring of her colleagues, all gaping at her.

"May?" Coulson said uncertainly, looking at the young girl lying on the ground. She looked younger than Skye and Jemma, no more than Rogue's age.

"Phil!" she grinned at him, hugely relieved to see him. "Is everyone all right? Did we win? Who killed Ward?" _Is that Audrey Nathan with her face buried in your chest?_

"Fitz shot him and then I chopped his head off," Deadpool said brightly. "It was _awesome_. Extremely dramatic and cliff-hanger-y. Especially when you were dead and Warren lost his mind."

"Warren…?"

"That's me," her soulmate said quietly, offering his hands to lift her to her feet. His wings folded up into an amazingly compact bundle on his back, and she realised they'd probably be invisible if he was wearing a coat.

"There's an _angel_ called _Warren_?" For some reason May found that ridiculously funny.

"I'm not actually an angel…" his lips twisted wryly as she began to giggle.

And then they all heard the sound of a police siren, distant but getting closer.

"That's our cue, boys and girls," Hunter said dryly, hand pressed to his chest and the extremely painful bruise spreading there. Beside him, Bobbi leaned on his shoulder, still dizzy from hitting her head. "Time to book it out of here. Because while there wasn't an explosion that took out a couple of city blocks, thanks to Gambit, there's still a headless body in there," he jerked his thumb behind him, "and several very unexplainable beings out here."

Deathlok grimaced. Archangel looked utterly unconcerned, curling his arm around May's waist.

"I'll meet you later."

"Wait, we need her to fly us home," Phil yelled, but he'd already taken off.

"I can dock the quinjet on the Bus and fly it," Bobbi suggested.

"I'll fly it," Remy said quietly. "I think you're concussed and shouldn't be flying anything."

"Can we hitch a ride away from here?" Deathlok asked, Ace in his arms, head on his shoulder.

"Sure. The offer still stands for you to join us," Coulson said as they clambered hastily into the two cars. Deadpool took the bike, pulling a still-in-shock Skye on behind him. He even scooped up both of his katanas and tossed them into the back of the SUV with a quick nod to Remy, who was driving that vehicle.

They arrived back at the Bus, and Bobbi convinced Remy that she was in at least decent enough shape to dock the quinjet on it. He conceded, wishing that he could heal properly, or that Warren hadn't been in such a damn hurry to take off, and headed to the Bus's cockpit. Mack, after an extremely worried glance around his battered-looking colleagues and their extras, came hurrying after him.

"Where the heck's May? Can you fly this thing?"

"May's fine. And yes. Sit your butt down and tell me what all these extra controls do, though." Remy started flipping switches.

"What the hell happened out there?"

Remy smiled crookedly. "You're not going to believe me even when I tell you, _mon ami_."

**Ming-na Wen, who plays May in AoS, is 51. FIFTY ONE.**

**Fuck, I wish I had those genes. (Although apparently she has had some surgery).**

**One of Angel's (Archangel's) powers is to heal with his blood. His tears de-aging his soulmate, though? Made that one up. Because why the fuck not, it's my soulmates AU ;)**

**May is actually my favourite character on AoS, because she's so badass and enigmatic and broken – I thought she deserved this…**


	25. Not Enough Science In The World To

**Chapter Twenty-Five – Not Enough Science In The World To Explain**

_Free – All Right Now_

Jemma insisted on checking everyone over, but apart from the bump on Bobbi's head and a few scrapes on her arm, and the huge, painful bruise on Hunter's chest, they were all astonishingly unscathed. Audrey and Ace were both traumatised; she hesitated only briefly before suggesting to Mike that his son would be best served with a shot of a sedative that would probably wipe out at least the last few hours if not days of his memory.

"Do it," Deathlok said instantly. "Frankly I'd rather he didn't remember any of this."

Jemma nodded, drawing the sedative up into the syringe. "He'll sleep a good long while. Come get me if you're concerned?" She'd settled Ace in the medical bay, where his father could sit beside him. The frightened child stared up at her as she eased the needle into his arm as gently as she could, ruffled his dark hair. "There there, buddy. It's all right. Go to sleep and your dad will be with you when you wake up, all right?"

Dark eyes drifted closed. Jemma stayed for a few moments, watching the boy's vitals on the monitor. "All right. He'll be okay. You'll both be okay."

Mike smiled up at her, and she was reminded, suddenly, of the handsome man he'd been before his scars. "Thank you, Jemma."

"Try and get some rest yourself," she said quietly, and left, dimming the lights behind her.

Bobbi and Hunter were collapsed, side by side, in reclining chairs in the lounge, she with an ice-pack on her head, he with one on his chest. They were holding hands. Hunter opened one eye and nodded as she passed, and Jemma paused.

"Thank you for saving my life back there."

"Did I?" Hunter smiled, pleased. "All in a day's work. Tell Remy he owes me one…" His eyes drifted closed again. "On the other hand, we're probably just all square after that time in Iraq."

"Perhaps, but now_ I_ owe you one. I won't forget." She left them resting together, headed forward. Hesitated at the foot of the stairs leading up to Phil's office and then made her mind up and headed up, tapping on the door. "Director?"

"That you, Simmons? Come on in."

She obeyed, eyes widening at the sight of Phil looking extremely, well, _rumpled_. His jacket and tie were gone and his shirt was half-unbuttoned, his hair ruffled. He was sitting on the couch with Audrey practically in his lap; she had her arms wrapped tightly around him.

Audrey looked up as Jemma entered. "I remember you," she said in her soft voice. "You were there when – _he_ came back."

"I was. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you then about Phil. He was being stubborn." Jemma gave her a sympathetic smile. "He does that."

"Yes he does." Audrey's hands tightened in Phil's shirt.

"Are you all right, Audrey? Were you hurt in any way?"

She shook her head. "I'm fine. Better than fine, now," but Jemma saw the fine tremor in her body.

"It's perfectly all right to feel traumatised," she said gently. "I know Phil will look after you." She took a small bottle from her pocket, set it on the edge of Phil's desk. "But if it gets to be a bit too much? A Valium might help."

"Thank you, Jemma," Phil said quietly. "Is everyone else all right?" He looked a little guilty, as though he thought he should be out there checking on them himself, especially with May missing.

"Everyone's going to be fine," Jemma reassured. "Bobbi and Hunter are the most knocked about physically, and it's nothing more than bumps and bruises." She hesitated. "I'm on my way to check on Skye now. Wade's with her, but – I think today's been a bit of a shock."

"Understandably," Phil murmured. "I'm still trying to process it myself.""

Jemma smiled wryly. "I can't believe I'm about to say this, since I've always been convinced that what people call magic is just technology too advanced for us to understand. But I think quite a lot of what happened today we will _never_ be sufficiently able to explain with science."

_Wade and May were both dead. Very dead. And now they're not and May is apparently about eighteen physically. Plus her soulmate is an angel, or the next best thing to it. And Remy and Rogue absorbed the energy from a bomb that, knowing Ward, would probably have destroyed a fair-sized chunk of San Francisco…_

… there was not enough science in the _world_ to explain those things.

Jemma sighed, made her way back down the stairs and headed for the sleeping cubicles. She reached Fitz's first; the door was open so she glanced in. Fitz and Rogue were curled together on the bed – _oh, goodness_, Fitz wasn't wearing a shirt. Rogue had stripped down to a vest top and her cargo pants, and was lying on Fitz's chest literally rubbing herself against him like a cat as he stroked his hands over her back and shoulders.

Jemma hastily averted her eyes, stood with her back to them. "I'm just checking up on everyone. You two all right?"

"We're fine. Why wouldn't we be?" Fitz said.

_You did shoot our former friend in the head_. Jemma didn't say it aloud, though, knowing that would probably hit Fitz later. "Anna-Marie did take a nasty knock from that van," she said instead.

"Ah'm fine. It was only a glancing blow, the bruises already healed up. Ah seem to have gained Remy's healing ability."

Jemma hesitated, risked a glance over her shoulder. "At the risk of sounding like an overbearing big sister," she and Rogue had already very firmly decided that _stepmother_ was not going to be a term used between them _ever_, "before you and Fitz get any, er, _more intimate_, you're going to have to have what is likely to be a _very_ awkward discussion with your father about controlling your energy field during, um…"

All three of them were red-faced. Fitz turned his face away from Jemma, burying it in Rogue's hair.

"Ah already guessed that," Rogue said glumly. "Don't worry, Jemma. Ah don't want to hurt Fitz by accident. We'll wait until Ah've had a chance to talk to _Papi_. But please do me a favour and put him in a good mood first?"

Jemma couldn't help but laugh. "I'll try and pave the way for you two. Take care of each other now. And behave yourselves." She hit the door closure button to give them a little more privacy – and in case Remy walked past.

"Right. Skye," she murmured to herself, heaved a deep sigh. Skye had to be falling apart right now. She'd gained her soulmate, seen him murdered, and then he came back to life, all on the same day. Too many shocks, surely, even discounting what had happened to May and Ward's final bout of insanity before his death. Jemma braced herself and knocked on Skye's closed cubicle door.

"Come in," Wade's low voice said, and she tapped the door opening panel, hoping that they weren't entwined even more intimately than Fitz and Rogue had been.

They weren't, fortunately, or they were but at least they were both still fully dressed. Skye was lying curled in Wade's arms, very still, her face white.

"I'm pretty sure she's in shock." For once, Deadpool left off with the quips and jokes.

"Can you blame her?" There were still spatters of dried blood on his face, and his dark red shirt had spots of even darker red on it. "I think you'd better go get cleaned up."

Wade grimaced, but nodded. "All right. You'll stay with her?"

"I promise." Jemma took his place when he vacated the bed. Skye curled into her, shuddering, and Jemma stroked her hair gently.

Wade paused at the door, looking back at them, before heading for the bathroom in the direction Jemma pointed. His voice floated back to them, making Jemma frown as she tried to work out which of them he was talking to.

"I know you don't ship Skimmons but they are awful pretty together."

She dismissed it as just another one of those strange things Wade said sometimes and turned her attention back to Skye. "Skye, sweetheart, talk to me."

"I – just – where do I even start?" Skye said after a few moments. "So many impossible things happened today…"

Jemma sighed, hugging her more tightly. "I know. I suppose we start by acknowledging that they _were_ impossible but they somehow happened anyway – and then just be grateful that we're all still alive. Somehow."

"Ward _killed_ him," Skye muttered into her shoulder. "Just shot him down…"

"And Wade's still walking around. Look – I think that tomorrow, this will all just seem like a particularly horrible dream." _Except for the angel-man and young-May, when and if they turn up,_ Jemma didn't say.

"God, I really hope you're right," Skye mumbled wearily.

"Frankly I think we saw things today that human eyes aren't meant to see, and my guess is that our brains' natural defence mechanisms are going to kick in. Like childbirth; if women remembered how bad it was we'd all be only children."

"I _am_ an only child. Christ," Skye lifted her head. "I _think_ I'm an only child!"

"Don't even go there. Probably the only good thing about today is that Cal wasn't mixed up in that mess with Ward."

"Mm." They hugged each other in silence until Skye said softly, "Do you think he really is an angel?"

Jemma had been wondering that herself. "Maybe it's best if we let ourselves believe that he is? It'd make quite a lot of today a bit easier to accept, wouldn't it?"

"I hope he brings May back. Even if she does look about Rogue's age now."

"I'm pretty sure she'll still be May, though, no matter how she looks."

The door slid open and Wade came in, washed clean and shirtless. "What? I don't have a clean shirt!" he protested when Jemma gave him a Look.

She supposed that was true. "I can find you one…"

"Don't bother. Pretty though you two are together, why don't you get out of my soulmate's bed before I start to feel left out and try to join the two of you? I'm pretty sure Remy would kill me again if he knew I was even _thinking_ about it, and I'm not sure how long I've lost my power for…"

"Enough, Wade, you're talking about things we don't want to think about right now," Skye said as Jemma gave her a final squeeze and slipped out of the bed.

"Give her time," Jemma told Wade softly. "The last thing she needs right now is you getting pushy."

Wade sighed as the door closed behind Jemma. "This means I'm not going to get my spectacular sex scene any time soon, is it?" he muttered under his breath.

_Patience, Wade. I promise I'll write you one._

He sighed again and settled back onto the bed beside Skye. She clung to him, resting her head on his muscled bare chest.

"Oh. Well this is – quite nice. I suppose I can be patient."

**The problem I'm finding, is that once you've started talking to Deadpool, it's very difficult to stop… he just WON'T SHUT UP.**


	26. My Brain Is Fried

**Chapter Twenty-Six – My Brain Is Fried**

_Marillion – No One Can_

**Trigger warning: This chapter contains a reference to a suicidal state that one of our characters would have been in, had Remy and Co. not been able to foil Ward's plans.**

Jemma made her way forward to the cockpit, found Mack and Remy there talking. Mack looked up at her from wide, astonished eyes.

"Remy's just been telling me some of what happened…"

"I really don't want to think about it. I think my brain is fried," Jemma sighed wearily, leaning against the wall.

Remy and Mack exchanged looks, and then Remy started hitting switches. "I'll set the autopilot, but would you mind staying here to keep an eye on things for a while..?"

"I got it." Mack nodded at him. He wasn't a fully trained pilot yet, but since they lost Trip, May and Bobbi had been slowly working him towards certification, aware that the team really needed a third pilot. He knew enough to yell for Remy or Bobbi if something started to go wrong, anyway.

Remy checked the controls one last time and stood, nodding to Mack as he settled into the pilot's seat. Coming over to Jemma, he steered her out of the cockpit with a gentle hand on her back, but she resisted when he tried to push her any further. Gently, allowing her space to pull away if she wished, he folded her in his arms, rested his cheek atop her hair. Waited for the breakdown.

It came with a wracking, tearing sob that shook her whole body against him. He didn't try to placate her, didn't tell her to hush, just held her against his chest and let her cry it out, pressing his lips gently to her forehead and murmuring softly in French, telling her how much he loved her, how proud he was of her for being so brave, so clever.

"You were the key, _ma dame des cœurs_," he whispered softly. "I knew it was you, but I couldn't understand how."

"No," she mumbled thickly through her tears. "No – what do you mean?"

"It had to be you. You were the one who told me about the bomb in time to act. I was supposed to die there – we all were. Even Warren's wings couldn't have shielded you all if the bomb had gone off as it was supposed to. Wade alone would have walked away, and without Skye, he'd have found a way to end himself too."

Gently he stroked his fingers through her hair. "It's all tied together. I had to save Hunter so that he could save you, so that you could warn me in time to contain the explosion. It's why I couldn't see a future for us if you'd made me walk away that first time I came to you. We wouldn't have had one. You'd have died today, and when my soulmark faded I'd have wanted to die too. Warren, Wade, Anna-Marie and I – we'd have lost everything without ever having it."

"Skye would have survived," Jemma muttered. "Ward wanted her alive."

Remy hesitated, and then told her the awful truth of the possible future he'd seen. "She'd have taken her own life after he raped her the first time. Having lost all of you, she'd have decided there was nothing left to live for."

"Oh God," a fresh wave of tears poured down Jemma's cheeks.

"Please don't ever tell Deadpool I said that. He'll probably try to figure out a way to time-travel so he can go back and kill Ward a lot more painfully."

"He'd deserve it," Jemma muttered into his shirt.

"Yes he would, but it's done, _chère_, he's dead and we're alive. Don't waste another thought on him."

"I'm sorry," she gulped then, "I was so angry with you, I thought it had all gone wrong…"

"May? You weren't alone there, _mon amour_, I thought I'd fucked up in some major way too. Thank God you figured out that Rogue could bring her back with Deadpool's power."

"Which is freaky as hell by the way!"

"Yes, I know." She was calming, her sobs settling as her brain kicked in again. _Any minute now she was going to ask a question he couldn't answer…_

"How the heck does it work?"

Remy put his fingers under Jemma's chin and tipped it up so he could look in her eyes. "Are you _seriously_ asking me if I understand how he comes back from the dead? I can't even explain my _own_ powers."

Something almost resembling a smile curved her swollen, trembling mouth. "Sorry. I can't help wanting to know."

"I know, _mon trésor_. _C'est pourquoi je t'aime tellement_…"

She sighed, her fingers sliding up over his ribs, snagging on rough patches of his singed shirt. Remy sucked in a quick breath. There was still a huge store of energy burning inside him from what he'd had to absorb earlier – Rogue certainly hadn't taken it all – and he felt incredibly horny, frantic to make love to Jemma, to reassure himself that she was all right, to draw her into his energy field and let it heal her.

"Jemma," he said huskily. "_Ma belle._ I want – I _need_ you. _S'il te plaît_…"

"Yes." She pulled him with her along the corridor, slid a door open, and he saw with one quick glance around that it was one of the Bus's sleeping cubicles. Tiny, but it was private, and there was a bed – not much of one, but it would do.

Jemma sucked in a horrified breath when he shrugged off his coat and she saw just how damaged the clothes he wore beneath were. They were badly singed, crispy in places where he'd burned from the inside out. "That was too close, wasn't it?" she lifted her eyes to his as he ended up ripping his shirt trying to peel the no longer flexible fabric off.

"Yes," Remy admitted with a shrug, "but I had no choice. If I hadn't contained the explosion, not even Warren's wings could have shielded you."

"Oh dear God," she looked at the singed pants he dumped on the floor as well. "Please don't ever do that to me again."

"Don't save you? I can't make that promise, _mon ange_, and well you know it. I told you I'd never put anything above your safety. That includes my own life."

"Oh, _Remy_," she reached for him, and he pulled her into his arms, pressed his lips against her hair.

"_Tu es mon cœur_," he whispered. "You _are_ my heart. Without you I have nothing, I _am_ nothing, Jemma. Just a no-good Cajun thief with some fancy card tricks."

She laughed through her tears at his ridiculous description, pulled his mouth down to hers. "Shut up and kiss me then."

He was more than willing, his hands sliding over her to strip off the clothes she'd stopped taking off when she saw how damaged his were. He removed the bulletproof vest with a silent prayer of thanks that she hadn't needed it. Reminded once again that he owed Hunter a debt he'd never be able to repay, for the simple fact of the former mercenary's willingness to take a bullet for Jemma.

Jemma moaned into his mouth and Remy forgot all about Hunter, forgot everything but the feeling of her soft skin under his hands as he gently bared it.

"So beautiful," he mumbled thickly, easing her down onto the bed, reaching down to remove her shoes, strip the last of her clothes off. "That you should be _mine_, Jemma – I still cannot believe how lucky I am." He knelt beside the bed, took her foot in his hand and kissed it, trailed slow kisses right up the inside of her leg until his lips were on her soulmark. He took his time over that, tracing his tongue lightly over the words, the flirtatious remark he'd made because flirting came almost as naturally to him as breathing. His hands skimmed over her thighs, her hips, until they curved under her ass and lifted her to his mouth.

Jemma had known what he intended as soon as his mouth reached the inside of her knee and he glanced up at her, the red in his eyes flaring, a wicked grin curling that sensual mouth. She was very far from objecting so she just laid back and let him do as he wished – though if he didn't get his tongue in her in a minute she was going to get _very cross_.

"Stop teasing, Remy, please!" she begged frantically as he just breathed on her, warm air rushing over her clit. She tried to push up but he had a firm grasp on her hips, holding her just where he wanted, only her upper back and shoulders on the bed with absolutely no leverage. "Please!"

He flicked just the tip of his tongue over her clit, very lightly, a barely-there touch, but to Jemma it was like a bolt of lightning. She gasped; hissed his name between her teeth when he did it again.

A low, hungry growl sounded in Remy's chest and suddenly he was in deep, pressing his face against her, shoving his tongue deep into her seeping tunnel, scraping his teeth on her clit and worrying at it with his upper lip.

Jemma shoved the heel of her hand against her mouth to muffle the screams that threatened to explode out of her. Bit down on the meat of her thumb as she felt the glorious sensation of Remy's energy start to coil around her, prickling on her skin. The aches and pains she'd picked up during the long, exhausting day faded away, replaced by pure euphoria as Remy deftly brought her to a shattering climax against his mouth.

She made such beautiful noises, his Jemma; high, keening whines as her slender body bucked against his hold, juices flooding his mouth. Remy drank greedily, slurping her up, his tongue chasing down the sweetness he craved. And then he pulled back and rose to his feet, laying her gently back down on the bed.

_Shit, I don't have any condoms. There were some in my pants pocket but they're probably melted, useless…_

"Jemma, do you have protection?"

"Um." She forced her eyes open and stared up at him. He was leaning over her, hands braced on either side of her body, lips and chin shining with her slick. "Gave myself an injection two weeks ago. 'S effective now. Don't need condom."

It wasn't the most coherent of explanations, but it was very clear that Remy understood, because his eyes flared even brighter red. "Bareback, _mon ange_? You will let me do that?"

"_Want_ that," Jemma reached up to him, ran her fingers into his long hair. He turned his head and kissed her wrist. "Want to feel all of you."

"Oh, _le bon Dieu – chaque fois que te veux, mon ange_!" The simple, heartfelt words _destroyed_ Remy. He lifted her more fully onto the bed, eased between her thighs. Rock-hard with desire for her, he took a moment to slide his cock over her vulva, groaning with pleasure as he felt silky juices coating him for the first time. _So good_. So much better without that thin latex barrier between them. He lined up and pushed the aching tip of his cock into her slippery, tight passage.

Jemma had to bite down on her hand again as he pressed slowly into her, the pressure as she stretched to accommodate his thickness enough to make her want to scream. He pushed her hand aside and kissed her instead; she could taste herself on his mouth and didn't care, returning the kiss hungrily, though she couldn't stop the moans welling in her throat as he bottomed out inside her.

She wrapped her legs around him, canting her hips up to take him as deeply inside her as she could manage. Remy thrust, adding a deliberate little twist of his hips just as he hit full depth, just to make Jemma make _that sound_ in her throat that drove him absolutely insane. She did, repeatedly, her tongue playing a dancing duel with his as he swallowed the sounds she made, taking them into him, taking _her_ into him as he spread his energy field throughout them both.

Anyone walking along the corridor outside would have been almost blinded by the violet light that flared around the edges of the door. Three doors down, Rogue felt the backwash of energy roll through her and blushed with embarrassment as she realised what Remy had to be doing, pressing her face against Fitz's chest. Fortunately, he didn't notice her pink cheeks, only stroked her hair slowly. He was already three-quarters asleep.

Rogue knew she wouldn't sleep any more, not now the energy filled her as it did Remy. But she had no intention of leaving Fitz. She snuggled more securely into his arms and lay watching him, enchanted by the slow rise and fall of his chest, the way his fair eyelashes swept onto his cheeks.

It was quiet throughout the big plane, the only sound the low roar of the engines and the even breathing of most of the occupants slipping into slumber. Until an irritated voice shattered the silence.

"You're kidding me, Remy gets to have sex _again_ and I don't?"

_Shut up and go to sleep, Wade, or I'll 'forget' to write your nookie scene in at all._

_S'il te plait_ – please

_mon trésor – _my treasure

_C'est pourquoi je t'aime tellement _– That's why I love you so much

_le bon Dieu – chaque fois que te veux, mon ange – _good God, whenever you want, my angel

**All's well here, except for a sexually frustrated Deadpool… so we'd better go check in on May and Archangel, huh?**


	27. You'd Better Sit Down

**Chapter Twenty-Seven – You'd Better Sit Down**

_Three Doors Down - Kryptonite_

May absolutely did not scream as they lifted off. She didn't. _It was more of a startled, involuntary yelp,_ she told herself firmly, and realised she was only fooling herself when strong arms tightened around her and Warren's low voice said in her ear;

"It's all right. I won't let you fall."

"You better not, buster," she said tartly. Unable to help wrapping her arms around his lean waist and hanging on for dear life. She _loved_ flying. In nice, safe, _enclosed_ airplanes where _she_ was in control. "Where the hell are we going?"

"Not far," was all he said, and indeed within a couple of minutes they were landing on a helipad atop a large skyscraper in downtown San Francisco.

"And what the hell is this place? How do you even know it's the right building?" She was feeling antsy and argumentative, May realised. _Well. Nothing new about that_. And it was a perfectly valid question, besides, the fog was like pea soup.

"Because it's my building." He gestured towards a glowing letter, barely visible in the thick fog, on a wall beside the helipad – a W.

"What?" she blinked at it. Turned and stared at him. Tried to imagine him in a business suit, without those spectacular wings that made it almost impossible to see anything else about him. "That's. Wait. _Worthington_?"

He inclined his blond head, a smile touching perfect lips as his wings folded down with a soft, hissing metallic rattle. "Warren Worthington, yes."

"But you're a famous recluse! The Howard Hughes of our time!" Even as she said it, May realised how stupid she was being. _Of course_ he was a recluse. It wouldn't do for people to notice that he wasn't _aging_, or to find out that he had spectacular 20-foot wings that were quite clearly not a wingpack like the Falcon's.

Warren found himself half-laughing at his soulmate's bewilderment. He felt ridiculously euphoric; the relief of Rogue's being able to bring her back so their bond could form after all almost overwhelming. And she was _beautiful_, small and lithe, her blue-black hair sleek around her exotically stunning face. He'd been alone for a very long time; unlike Remy and Wade, it was impossible for him to hide what he was from sexual partners, no matter how drunk they might happen to be. Desire for his soulmate almost swamped him, but he couldn't push. If she turned away from him, refused their bond, he knew deep inside that he'd be destroyed.

"Melinda," he said quietly. "Please, come inside. This is my building; the top floor is a penthouse apartment I keep for my own use."

She hesitated, but it wasn't like she had too many options, standing on a freezing rooftop in the middle of the night, so she followed him through a door, down a flight of stairs, and into an apartment that was surprisingly simple, minimally furnished, everything comfortable but functional. After a moment she realised that clutter and knick-knacks would just get knocked around by his wings if he ever spread them indoors. They were sort of hanging semi-loose from his shoulders now, the tips not quite brushing the floor behind his boot heels. She couldn't help but wonder if that was his 'relaxed' posture.

"Would you like a drink? God knows I need one, after that." Warren headed for the kitchen, pulled a bottle of vodka out of the freezer.

"Oh hell yes," May agreed. He grinned and put two crystal glasses on the counter, half-filled both of them.

She took a long sip. Watched as he cradled his glass in strong, slender fingers and slugged back about half of it in one go before setting the glass down on the counter.

"What the _fuck_ just happened?"

Warren winced. "Long version or short version?"

"Just a version that makes some sort of sense! The last thing I remember," she thought about it, "is figuring out Rogue and Deadpool saw Agent 33 and thought she was me."

Warren sighed, picked up his glass again and drained it. "You'd probably better sit down." He gestured at the couch.

"Just tell me!" She was in no mood for procrastination.

"I missed the first part of the confrontation," Warren said, "Remy and I arrived, with Deathlok, about halfway through. Ward had killed Deadpool, but we knew he could come back from that."

May's mouth dropped open.

"Ah, perhaps you _didn't_ know he could come back from that. Wade has a very freaky ability. He's a lot more killable than, say, Remy. Or me. But he comes back from the dead. As far as we know he's the only person ever to have the ability. Er – long-term, anyway."

May picked up her vodka glass and drained it. Warren pushed the bottle in her direction.

"You're going to need that."

"I really don't like the sound of that!" But she uncapped the bottle and poured some more vodka. "All right. Deadpool – comes back from the dead. And where was I when this was happening?"

He sighed, realised there was _never_ going to be an easy way to say it. "You were also dead. The HYDRA agents drove a van in through the front of that building you guys were using. You were killed on impact. Broke your neck."

May looked at the bottle of vodka. "I'm going to need a lot more of that," she said with certainty.

"Melinda," a warm, gentle hand cupped her cheek. "You don't remember anything? Deadpool never does, but I wondered if you…"

"I just woke up and saw you and thought I'd died. Which apparently I had, but not at that moment…" a strange feeling was bubbling up inside her and she realised that it was the urge to scream hysterically and start breaking things.

"Breathe," he said softly, his thumb brushing lightly over the edge of her jaw, and somehow she managed to suck in a slow deep breath and then another. Centring herself, _containing_ herself.

"How?" she said finally.

"There was a bomb in the van. It went off when Ward died and Remy managed to contain the explosion – he nearly killed himself in the process, took in too much energy. Rogue went to him to siphon some off, I'm not sure exactly but I think it broke through some kind of block she had on her powers. She can touch now, can manipulate energy the same way he can. And she has one more gift I'm sure she told you about – she's able to temporarily 'steal' extra-human powers. She was able to steal Deadpool's power to come back from the dead and give it to you."

"That statement contains at least five things that are flat-out impossible," May said after thinking about it for a couple of minutes.

Warren quite deliberately rustled his wings.

"And don't even get me started on those!"

"Your world isn't what you thought it was, Melinda May." His expression wasn't unsympathetic. "Surely you understand that by now, considering how much time you have spent with Remy and Rogue? And indeed, your young friend Skye?"

"Ugh," she drained the glass of vodka, considered the rest of the bottle. "I don't think there's enough vodka in the _world_."

"I'm truly sorry. This wasn't the way in which I wanted to meet you, but Remy did tell me long ago that it wouldn't be under the best of circumstances. When he got to me this morning and said we had to go right the fuck now or you weren't going to make it – I didn't react well."

May found herself licking her lips. He looked so young and beautiful, even more than Ward had ever been. She felt like a dirty old woman. And yet, his _eyes_… they were _old_. Old, world-weary, sad.

Warren cocked his head. She looked – well, it was a strange expression on her face. Her _young_ face, and he suddenly realised that she didn't yet know.

"Come with me," he held out his hand to her. "Please. There's something you need to see."

She hesitated, but in the end took his offered hand because at least that way she could walk beside him, rather than have to follow him and see _those wings_. She was just not ready to deal with that quite yet. Not on top of everything else.

He led her into a bedroom, again simple but with an extremely large bed, and she was just about to open her mouth to make a tart retort when they passed through another doorway into a bathroom, and she was confronted by another impossibility.

Warren watched as Melinda stared into the mirror, lifting her fingers incredulously to press at her cheeks.

"That's me," she said in a choked whisper.

"Yes."

"No, I mean – that's _me_, thirty _years_ ago! What did – what _happened_?" She spun to him, wide-eyed, unbuttoning her jacket and running her fingers over her body – which made him gulp back a sudden lump in his throat.

"I'm not entirely sure," Warren said evasively, though he had a fair suspicion. Being hunted down and tortured until he wept was not high on his list of things to do with the rest of his life, so he fully intended to claim it was a side effect of Deadpool's power. All five of the survivors from the original Weapon IV program – himself, Remy, Wade, Scott and Jean – had all stopped aging in their early-to-mid-twenties, even though all of them had radically different abilities.

"I'm _young_," May said, uncertain whether to be delighted or horrified.

"You _appear_ young. You're still _you_, Melinda." He looked down at her with those ancient blue eyes.

"No one is ever going to take me seriously again!"

He couldn't help himself. He started to laugh.

Irritated beyond measure by his amusement, she whacked him in the chest, and then winced. It was like punching a brick wall. He caught her hands, lifted them and pressed his lips lightly against her bruised knuckles. The look he gave her over them made her anger suddenly redirect into something else entirely, and she looked past him at the bed.

"Are you going to let me be on top?"

The look grew even more heated. "If you like."

"It won't bother you to be on your back, with your wings?"

"Not in the slightest." When he gave her a feral grin, she realised he didn't look _at all_ angelic. She pulled her hands free from his grasp, reached up to put them on his shoulders.

"I would really very much like to not think any more about today for a while. Do you think you could help me with that?"

"With pleasure." His lean arms snaked around her waist and then he was kissing her, lifting her off her feet and carrying her to the bed. "With the greatest of pleasure."

He made good on his promise. It was a very long time before Melinda May could think of anything at all beyond the ecstasy she found in her soulmate's arms.

**Unusually for me, I'm fading to black here. I just don't think I can write May having sex!**


	28. The Exception To Every Rule

**Chapter Twenty-Eight - The Exception To Every Rule**

_Chantal Kreviazuk – Feels Like Home_

**There is a VERY NSFW photo of Taylor Kitsch aka Remy in this chapter, if you are reading on Ao3. Ye have been warned.**

The Bus arrived back at the Playground in the early hours of the morning. Remy – with a bit of advice from Bobbi – landed the big plane almost as neatly as May would have done.

"We should probably debrief…" Coulson said as they all stumbled down the Bus's ramp.

"Bad guys all dead, we're all alive," Deadpool said, "that'll do me."

Skye, leaning against his shoulder, actually managed a weary laugh. "I'm beginning to see why you're my soulmate."

"Only just now, babe? You wound me."

"Surely it can wait, Coulson?" Hunter said then. "May's not even here, and frankly all I want to do is sleep for a week."

"_Phil_," Audrey was the one that tugged at his hand, and he turned to her immediately. "You have better things to do right now."

"I do? Oh," he actually blushed when she arched an eyebrow, reached to tug nervously at the knot of the tie she'd long since removed. "Uh, yes, I do. Everyone take the next day off, then." He glanced at Mike Peterson, standing a little apart from the others with Ace asleep in his arms, and then at Mack.

"Mack, do you think you could show Mike to a room?"

"Yes, Director," Mack rumbled with amusement, watching as the various soulmate pairs, all clinging to each other, headed towards the stairs. He turned to Mike and smiled, looking down at the sleeping child in his arms.

"Cute kid. Come on, I'll find you a crib."

Deathlok had thought himself beyond emotion, at least towards anyone other than his son. But as the huge guy with the kindly smile spoke, his mouth fell open. "I lost my words," he said, his voice cracking, "but that's what they said."

Mack's mouth fell open too. He blinked several times, his eyes taking in Mike's scars, his cyborg arm and leg, and then slowly, he smiled. "Always figured my soulmate would be a vet, what with those words. Never dreamed he'd be a superhero."

"I'm not a superhero," he denied automatically.

"That's not what I've heard. Come on. Let's get your boy put to bed and then you and me can crack a couple of beers and have a talk, eh?"

It had been a very long time since Mike Peterson had smiled. He felt the tight skin of his scarred face pulling when he did, worried that he must look like some kind of hideous freak. But Mack just put a huge hand out to stroke Ace's fluffy hair and smiled back.

Fitz had had to convince Rogue to let him put his shirt back on. Not that he minded her clinging to him, rubbing her sleek skin against his, in the least. He just didn't want to face the looks he'd get from his team-mates.

Or a probably very painful death at Remy's hands.

He had a nasty suspicion that Deadpool looked on Rogue as an annoying little sister who needed taking care of for her own good, as well.

Plus Coulson had adopted her as one of his 'girls' and the others all treated her as the baby of the group – while they respected her abilities and listened to her, because she _was_ smart – they also fussed over and spoiled her. Fitz could almost hear the shovel talks they hadn't bothered with so far, _knowing_ that he couldn't touch her.

As they got to the top of the stairs, it was Hunter and Bobbi – more used to their soulmates' proximity than the others, and therefore more aware of what was going on around them – who separated, Hunter grabbing Fitz's arm while Bobbi put a hand on Rogue's shoulder and asked a bit pitifully if she could please grab her a fresh icepack?

Ever eager to please, Rogue hurried off to the kitchen as Hunter steered Fitz towards his own room.

"Please don't make me sleep in the corridor to make sure you two stay separate," Hunter said wearily.

"I'm not going to do anything, Hunter," Fitz said exasperatedly. "She's still only seventeen. Go fuss over your own soulmate."

Hunter gave him a thoughtful look, and eventually nodded. "All right, I trust you. You better lock your door, though."

Fitz blushed at the implication that Rogue might come to _him_. "I will."

"Good. Because Remy would kill you even if it was her crawling into _your_ bed."

"I _know_!" Glancing down the corridor, Fitz caught both Remy and Wade watching him as they prepared to enter Jemma and Skye's rooms. "I'm locking my door," he said loudly. Wade grinned, and Remy gave him a ghost of a nod.

Rogue passed, arm in arm with Bobbi, shot him a look from under her lashes. Fitz just about managed to suppress his groan until he was in his room with the door locked behind him.

_I'm going to need a cold shower now._

Remy waited until Rogue reached him, nodded to Bobbi, and took over escorting his daughter to her room, after a murmured word to Jemma.

"Stay in your room, _petite_," he told Rogue as they got to her door.

"_Papi_, you're not being fair…"

"Anna-Marie, I know what you're going through. It took me _years_ after gaining my powers before I gained enough control to touch anyone safely, and even more before I dared to try being intimate. This is all very new to you."

"But he's mah _soulmate_," she looked up at him through green eyes brimming with tears. "Ah want – ah _need_ to be close to him!"

He almost melted, steeled himself. "He's also ten years older than you, and yes I'm aware that I'm being _very_ hypocritical, but you're only seventeen. There's no rush, _petite_. I need to teach you a few tricks to do with your power as well, or you risk hurting him. Even if you two don't go all the way yet."

_Oh God, I'm having the birds and the bees talk with my daughter. I really, really don't want to be doing this._

"What do you mean?"

_Oh, NO._

Fortunately, Jemma came to the rescue, coming out of her room where she'd been lurking in the doorway as she saw his panicked expression. "Go away, Remy," she said, pushing Rogue into her room. "I'll explain."

_Thank God. _

Remy bravely ran away and left her to it, shuddering as he stripped off his clothes and got into the shower in Jemma's bathroom. He'd rather face down Wolverine on a rampage or even Jean with PMS than have to explain to his daughter that orgasms didn't necessarily mean sex. Maybe they'd sheltered her a bit _too_ much. On the other hand, he knew that she'd always fled when her girlfriends started talking about that sort of thing, unable and unwilling to join in the conversation because she'd always believed she'd never be able to experience it.

_Ugh, I'm going to have to face the fact that my baby girl's all grown up_. He sighed and ran his hands through his wet hair. _And I can't even legitimately threaten to kill Fitz, because he's her soulmate, goddamn it_.

He'd finished, dried off and was roughly yanking a comb through his tangled wet hair – _maybe I should cut it again? I'll ask Jemma if she prefers it long_ – when Jemma came in. She was smiling, an amused little smirk he immediately decided he didn't want to know the cause of. Not since it likely concerned his daughter.

"Oh," Jemma stopped dead at the sight of Remy, sitting stark naked on a chair untangling his damp hair. She hastily shut the bedroom door, glad no one was about in the corridor. And then she just stood and stared at him.

"What, _chère_?" he frowned at her, yanking out the last stubborn snarl.

"You," she gestured at him helplessly. "You look…"

He grinned. "I thought you'd be tired."

"I'm never tired after making love with you," she admitted. She'd realised quite early on that it took a good twenty-four hours for the effects of sharing Remy's energy to wear off, and in that time sleep was completely unnecessary and unwanted.

"Which is strange." He got up and moved towards her, all lithe, rippling muscle. Jemma widened her gaze to take as much of him in as possible. "It's never – well, no other woman I've shared a bed with has gained anything _good_ from my energy field. It doesn't hurt you, either, and I don't understand why that is." Gentle fingers caressed the corners of her eyes. "You were getting a tiny wrinkle here, did you know that? It's gone."

Jemma nodded. She'd noticed. Of course she'd noticed, she was all about scientific observation. Blood tests had shown other changes in her too, her cholesterol dropping to rock bottom levels, her iron absorption well up, other key indicators showing that her body was healthier than it had ever been.

"It's said that soulmates are the exception to every rule," she murmured, starting to lose focus as Remy's fingers slid down to curve under her jaw, tilting her face up to his.

"I'm glad," he whispered. "I couldn't bear to hurt you, _mon ange_."

About her last coherent thought before he started kissing her was that she should give Fitz a blood test for baseline comparisons too. And then Remy _was_ kissing her and she couldn't think of anything beyond the way he felt as he lifted her and carried her to the bed, skilled hands discarding her clothing carelessly along the way. He traced lightly over the words high on her inner thigh before two long fingers were suddenly pressing deep into her, making Jemma arch and pant, writhing against him. His thumb grazed her clit lightly, too lightly, but she only sighed and relaxed into his hold, knowing by now that he liked a slow build-up but would never, ever leave her unsatisfied.

She was his goddess, his sun and moon, his queen of hearts. Remy worshipped Jemma with his hands and mouth, whispering words of love in French against her skin until she was thrashing and moaning beneath him, begging him breathily to take her in that precise English accent that drove him wild. He laughed as she reached the limits of her patience, pushed him down on his back and straddled him.

"You are a maddening, frustrating creature, Remy LeBeau!" she gasped, taking a firm hold of his cock in both her small hands. Honestly Jemma would have loved to return the favour, driving him just as crazy as he had her, but right now she was too desperate to get him inside her.

"_Je suis le Diable Blanc, certainement_," he murmured, thrusting his hips up wickedly just as Jemma was easing down onto him.

"Oh my God, oh _Remy_!" she gasped out his name as she was suddenly impaled deeply on his cock, his big hands coming up to grasp her hips, setting a rhythm designed to bring her off as fast as possible as he glided over her G-spot with every firm stroke.

"That's it, _chère_," he growled softly, "like that, oh yes, let me see your eyes… _je t'adore_…"

She shuddered out a climax, her short nails clawing at his shoulders, and he slipped his hand in between them and stroked her clit, slow gentle circles that didn't let her come too far down before he started to thrust again.

"Let me," Jemma gasped as she felt Remy start to thicken inside her, heard his breathing grow ragged and he closed his eyes, "let me see _your_ eyes."

"Jemma, no," he didn't stop, not completely, but he did slow right down. "It's not – you don't want to see."

She leaned down and kissed him, her fingers caressing his cheeks lightly. "Will it hurt me?"

"No, it's just…" his expression was pained, and he put his arms around her and held her tightly for a moment. "You accept me as I am, Jemma, I'm so grateful for that. My eyes are bad enough normally, you don't want to see…"

"Remy," she silenced him with another kiss. "I _love_ you. _All_ of you. Show me."

He groaned as she ground her hips against him, rubbed her breasts on his chest. And because he loved her more than life itself, he kept his eyes open as she rode him to climax, as he drew her into his energy field and her breathing grew ragged, as she came again writhing on him, yet never pulling her gaze from his. It was unbelievably intimate, the most intimate thing he'd ever done, and Remy felt as though she was looking into his soul when finally he accepted her need for this and allowed his own release, his hips jerking hard as he spurted hotly into her welcoming body.

"You're wrong," Jemma whispered against his chest afterwards as he held her close. "It's not hellfire in your eyes."

"What is it then, _mon ange_?" he asked quietly, drawing small circles on her back with his fingertips.

"I don't know," she leaned up on one hand, looked him in the eyes with her lips twitching, as though she wanted to laugh. "I'm afraid I now have to admit that there are _some_ things science is never going to be able to explain, though."

Remy stared at her open-mouthed for a moment before saying "Who are you, and what have you done with Jemma Simmons?"

Her giggles carried all the way down the hall.

_Je suis le Diable Blanc, certainement_ – I am indeed the White Devil (a nickname given to Gambit by the New Orleans Thieves' Guild in comics)

**Did you like the Mike/Mack pairing? I can never resist pairing absolutely everybody off ;-)**


	29. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

**Yes, we've reached the end. Thank you all, so much, for coming on this slightly insane journey which began with a whim 'What if I paired Jemma with Gambit in one of the Soulmate Shorts fics?' and has turned into a 60,000+ word epic.**

**I know quite a lot of you have fallen a bit in love with Remy in this fic, and I assure you he will DEFINITELY return somewhere along the line in my writing, though I don't know quite where, yet.**

**Although… the Skye/Gambit Short could use a sequel…**

… **perhaps one day LOL. I need to finish off a few other things first.**

**Thank you again for reading along, and if you enjoyed this story and didn't comment yet, please, PLEASE do. As an unpaid fanfiction author your comments are the only payment I get, and they really do feel like gold. One of these days I'm gonna get up enough confidence to write something original and try to get paid real money for it, and it will all be because of YOUR encouragement. I'd love to know what you liked best about the story, who do you feel I got most in character, what was your favourite line or even what you think I got wrong! I reply to most comments and ALL questions, and I love getting to talk to my readers. You can send me a request for which of the Shorts you'd like to see me extend next, too ;)**

May and Archangel turned up a week later, into the middle of chaos. It wasn't the usual kind of S.H.I.E.L.D. chaos, though. Audrey had quite calmly announced over breakfast that morning that she had no intention of letting Phil escape her again and that they were getting married. At the local courthouse. That afternoon. She even had all the paperwork ready.

Phil had choked on his bite of toast until Hunter pounded him on the back to dislodge it, and then they were all hugging him and patting him on the back anyway, the girls hugging and kissing Audrey and telling her that she was exactly what Phil needed. Coulson had been a different man since that night in San Francisco, much calmer and happier – "Getting well laid will do that for a guy," Hunter had remarked, smirking until Bobbi whacked him across the back of the head – and Audrey never stopped smiling, though she never let Phil out of her sight, either.

None of them noticed Remy slipping his phone from his coat pocket and sending a text message. But as they arrived at the courthouse that afternoon, a large black limo slid up to the curb and a gorgeous young couple got out, he tall and fair in an extremely expensive suit, she a delicately lovely Asian girl in a designer dress and… combat boots?

It took a moment for them to recognise May and then they were all shrieking with delight and hugging her, accompanied by much eye-rolling and exasperated faces from her. Until she got to Phil.

"Thank you for coming," he said, a bit choked up.

"If you think I'd miss your wedding, Coulson, you'd better think again," she said tartly. "You've kept poor Audrey waiting quite long enough. Now get in there and make an honest woman out of her, and then I have a wedding present for you."

He blinked at her in surprise, but she turned him towards Audrey and gave him a little push.

The ceremony went off perfectly, and afterwards they all spilled out onto the street outside the courthouse, laughing and joking together. May linked her arm through Audrey's.

"So," she said cheerfully, "Warren and I brought you a present."

"You didn't have to," Audrey protested.

"Well, it's not so much a tangible present. I don't feel like you two really have the need for dinner sets or silver cutlery. We brought you – time."

Audrey blinked at her in confusion.

"See that limo?" May pointed. "It's going to take you to the airport. Where one of Warren's jets is waiting to fly you to his private island in the Caribbean."

"What?" Phil overheard. "I can't…"

"If you're going to say that you can't trust me to run S.H.I.E.L.D. for two weeks while you take a very well deserved break to honeymoon with your new wife, you and I are going to _have_ _words_," May said menacingly, and he blinked, reminded again that she might look young but this was most definitely still Melinda May.

"Er…"

May's eyes narrowed.

"… thank you?"

Jemma couldn't help her giggles, pressing her face against Remy's arm. He looked magnificent in a suit, she thought, as he reached around to stroke her hair. "Phil's face is a hoot," she whispered to him. "He looks as though he's not sure whether to be outraged or not at being dressed down by someone who looks like a teenager."

Remy grinned, watching as Phil and Audrey got into the limo – which they saw now had JUST MARRIED written in lipstick on the rear window and balloons tied to the bumper – and drove away, Audrey leaning to wave out of the window until Phil pulled her inside. "He'll get used to it. You'll all have to. Melinda May is still the Deputy Director, no matter what face she's wearing."

May heard him and gave him a regal nod, the gesture not in the least diminished by her youthful features. Warren stood behind her, his own young face belied by his eyes, ancient and knowing as he watched Remy.

"Warren's a very old friend," Remy said quietly as he and Jemma turned and headed back towards the cars. "He'd lend us his island for a couple of weeks too, if you wanted, once Phil and Audrey are back?"

"A holiday? That does sound nice," she sighed at the thought. Being stranded on a tropical island with Remy – who'd need a TARDIS?

"I was thinking – maybe a honeymoon?" He scratched at the back of his neck a bit sheepishly, unable to quite meet her eyes.

"Are you proposing to me, Remy Etienne LeBeau?" Jemma gaped at him in delight.

Overhearing, Wade pulled Skye to a stop and nudged her. Soon all their friends were surrounding them, waiting for Remy to speak. He looked around at them and grinned ruefully.

"Somehow I knew I was going to make a spectacle of myself doing this."

"Subtlety's never been your strong point, Gambit," Warren said laughingly.

"Eh, then I might as well go the whole nine yards, make sure I've got plenty of witnesses." And right there in the middle of the busy sidewalk, he dropped to one knee and took her hand in his. "I love you, Jemma Simmons," he looked up at her. "Will you make an honest man out of this Cajun thief?"

"If she makes a corny joke about him stealing her heart, I'm totally outta here," Deadpool muttered.

_Shut up, Wade, you're wrecking the moment!_

Skye elbowed Wade hard in the ribs; he let out a grunt of pain as she shook him with a mild quake for good measure.

Jemma didn't even notice the byplay. She just stared down into Remy's red-and-black eyes and smiled. "Damn right I will."

And then everyone was clapping and cheering and crying (well, Rogue and Skye were crying), and hugging them both until Jemma complained her ribs were creaking.

They all ended up in a nearby restaurant; Warren ordered the entire menu and half the wine cellar and they settled down to celebrate.

"You do realise," Jemma said to Remy, "that I'm not quite the orphan most of the others are?"

"Hmm?" he turned from watching Rogue and Fitz making out in a dark corner, a resigned expression on his face.

"Well, my parents are still very much alive. As are my three brothers and two sisters. I'll be the first one of my siblings to get married. So – if you think we're going to get away with a wedding as quiet as this one, I'm afraid you've got another think coming."

Remy's expression of horror as he stared at her was comical to behold.

Jemma grinned. "Kidding. I'm actually the last one unmarried. My parents are all wedding-ed out. Let's just elope." She reached up to kiss him, laughing at his expression. "I'd never do that to you, Remy. Never."

He breathed a sigh of relief, wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and kissed her thoroughly. "Of course you wouldn't. _Mon ange_."

**The End**

"Wait just a fucking minute!"

_What is it, Wade?_

"You promised me a sex scene!"

_After almost mucking up Remy's proposal, you're pushing your luck…_

"I will turn up to annoy you in every fic you ever write if you don't give me a sex scene with this gorgeous girl you made into my soulmate!"

_Why do I have the terrible feeling you're going to do that anyway? Oh, what the hell, all right then… just don't talk to me in the middle of it…_


	30. Wade's Extra Bonus Post-Credits SexScene

**Wade's Extra Bonus Post-Credits Sex Scene**

They arrived back at the Playground several hours later and for the most part, a good deal drunker. They were all slightly surprised to find that Remy, Warren and Wade _could_ actually get drunk – Rogue would have attempted to prove the theory as well but Fitz only let her sneak one glass of champagne – but they all metabolised it fast and had sobered up by the time they had to drive home.

Wade discovered, to his delight, that Skye was a rather giggly, affectionate drunk. Not that she'd had all that much, only a couple of glasses of champagne, telling him confidingly that she didn't want to risk losing control of her powers. She was sitting on his lap by then in the backseat of the car Mike Peterson was driving – Deathlok, it appeared, could _not_ in fact get drunk.

Skye nestled against Wade's chest. She could have sat in the middle, she supposed, and Ace could have sat in Mack's lap, but the little boy was drowsy, leaning against Mack's side with Mack's huge arm tucked around him. Mike kept glancing at them in the mirror and smiling, ignoring snide remarks from Hunter in the passenger seat.

So Skye sat in Wade's lap, her head tucked into the curve of his neck, her fingers idly tracing over his chest beneath his fine cotton shirt. He'd let her coax him into a suit for the occasion – though he'd drawn the line at a tie.

"I can only think of one good purpose for that, babe," he'd told her, taking the noose she'd been about to put over his head, "and that's tying your wrists together while I nail you to the bed. Actually, two, you could tie _me_ down and lick every inch of my naked, quivering, extremely buff body..."

Skye had blushed and hastily put the tie down. She'd managed to fend off Wade's advances so far. Although she'd slept in his arms the night they'd got back from San Francisco – and been very grateful for his comfort when she woke up screaming – she'd tried to distance herself a little since, wary of getting too close too quickly, and somewhat to her surprise he'd conceded with good grace, moving into another room to sleep and not pressuring her, though he'd made it more than clear that when she was willing he'd be ready and able.

It was actually a comfort, his direct brand of wooing. So utterly unlike Ward's subtle insinuations and hidden layers of meaning. Wade meant what he said, and he usually said absolutely everything that came into his head. He hid nothing from her, even detailing things she'd perhaps rather not have known – Skye resolved never to tell Jemma (or May) what Wade told her the children of the Weapon IV program had suffered through.

Wade kept no secrets from his soulmate, she who hated secrets. Subterfuge was quite simply not in his nature anyway, and he figured that lying to her was the quick way to lose her forever, Skye who'd been lied to her whole life. So he told her the truth, whatever she asked, and she respected him for it, perhaps was coming to love him, he hoped. He already knew he loved her, his Skye of the fierce intellect and the even fiercer loyalty. He'd seen that night in San Francisco that she was willing to sacrifice herself for her friends, and to Wade who had done that more times than he cared to recall, that was an action deserving of the ultimate respect.

So when they got back to the Playground and she tugged on his wrist, leading him to her room, he was more than willing to follow along. They hadn't really spent much time alone together since that fateful night, Wade just snatching a few stolen kisses here and there, uncaring if others saw them, though Skye always blushed and pushed him away.

"Though I'm very far from objecting, babe," he began, "_mmmph_." His arms were suddenly full of Skye, who'd shut the door and then thrown herself at him. Strong though he was, she off-balanced him and he stumbled back and fell onto the bed with her on top of him, her mouth plastered to his. "Mmff. Mmm. Babe, wait," he had to slide a hand into her hair and lift her mouth from his, even though there was nothing he wanted more than to keep kissing her – _oh, wow_, she'd straddled his hips and started grinding against him. His brain blanked.

"I'm done waiting," Skye told him, leaning back and attacking the buttons on his shirt.

"Why?" he grabbed her hands, stilling her. A voice (_inside_ his own head for once) was telling him not to be such an idiot, but he did want to know what had caused this sudden change of heart.

Skye hesitated – and then realised she couldn't lie to him, not to Wade. "Everyone's so _happy_. I want that too."

"While sex with me will _definitely_ make you happy," he couldn't resist saying, "I'm not sure I like being used as a fucktoy to improve your mood?"

"No!" her eyes widened with horror. "No, that's not it, not at all! I just," she looked shyly away from his searching gaze, "I guess I realised, watching Phil and Audrey today, that I don't want to waste any more _time_. I _know_ you won't hurt me, I know you won't lie to me." She peeped shyly at him from those exotic dark eyes. "I know you love me."

He'd told her a couple of days ago, in tones of surprised and delighted enlightenment. It was impossible to disbelieve him.

"Yes to all of that, babe," Wade watched her for a moment longer. "Well – far be it from me to deny you anything you want, including my deliciously hot body and sweet, sweet lovemaking. Let's get this dress off you. I don't want to rush this. You deserve better than that." He sat up, pushing her back onto his thighs, deft fingers finding the zip at the back of her dress. "And did I tell you yet how utterly fucking gorgeous you look in this dress, by the way?"

"Several times," Skye giggled as he eased the sleeves down her arms. He'd taken one look at her in the slinky, burnt-orange, bandage wrap gown and tried to put his suit jacket over her, claiming he couldn't cope with his jealousy over other men looking at her.

"And even more fucking gorgeous out of it," Wade licked his lips as the dress eased down, revealing a dark-bronze, lacy bra. Skye had smallish breasts, in keeping with her lithe, delicate frame, but Wade was of the opinion that more than a handful was a waste anyway. "Fuck, babe, you're so sexy, how have I kept my hands off you this long?"

Skye smiled. She didn't even have to say _Because I asked you to._ They both knew that was the answer. "The feeling's mutual," she admitted, readdressing the issue of the buttons on his shirt, spreading it open to reveal his muscled chest. Deliberately, she licked her index finger and traced it down between his pectoral muscles, outlined his six-pack.

"Unnhh," Wade made an incoherent noise in his throat, flipped Skye onto her back on the bed and shrugged hastily out of his shirt and jacket, discarding them onto the floor. She gave him raised eyebrows. "I'll pick them up later, neat freak, right now I've got more important things to do." He busied himself sliding her dress down over her hips, almost swallowing his tongue when he realised she was wearing a garter belt and _stockings_. "Fuck, babe, you _trying_ to give me a heart attack?"

She giggled as he traced warm, reverent fingers over her skin. He found a ticklish spot at her waist, and she yelped, batting his hand away. "Don't you dare!"

His wicked grin told her that he _would_ dare – later. Right now he was too busy peeling off the pretty, lacy underwear she'd put on with the full intention of letting him see it. "Gorgeous, utterly gorgeous," he mumbled, kissing across her stomach. "So fucking beautiful." He glanced up at her. "Don't freak out. I just wanna say this once. _Mine_."

From any other man in the world, it _would_ have freaked her out, but not Wade. Skye smiled at him. "I know. Your words are on my butt, remember?"

"That's right, and I haven't seen them yet!"

She rolled over, grinning over her shoulder at him, and he looked down, running his fingers lightly over the smooth curve of her ass, finding his irreverent words written right in the crease at the top of her thigh. "I suppose at least I called you beautiful," he murmured, unable to resist kissing the words. She squeaked as he found another ticklish spot and tried to wriggle away, but he held on firmly.

"Oh no. You've shown me now, you're mine all mine!" his tone was teasing, though his emotions were anything but as he carried on kissing along the long row of words – that finished between her legs, he saw. His sense of smell wasn't particularly sensitive, but it didn't need to be at this range for him to scent her arousal. He trailed a warm finger along the words, following them inwards towards her groin, looking back towards her face. She had her head turned towards him, watching him. "Skye?" he questioned softly, and had his answer when she parted her legs, allowing him access.

Skye sighed and closed her eyes as Wade's fingers quested down between her thighs. He was gentle, stroking slowly, exploring, and then he laid back down beside her and reached to kiss her, sliding his other arm under her waist and lifting her, rolling her to face him, pulling her thigh across his hip so his fingers could keep up their light play among her folds.

It was exactly what Skye wanted, slow and gentle, making love as though they had all the time in the world. She was surprised though that Wade, usually so talkative, was quiet, preferring to kiss her or otherwise occupy his mouth with her nipples until she was the one making noise, moaning and writhing against him with her fingers buried in his short blond hair, holding him hard against her.

Wade smiled as Skye came apart against him. He had three fingers buried deep inside her and his thumb rubbing circles over her clit, his tongue swirling and tugging on one pouting nipple. She bore down on his hand with a throaty moan, her nails digging into his scalp briefly until she relaxed, still quivering slightly. Slowly he eased his fingers from her, moved back from her breast after a few more licks to her nipple.

"Um," Skye sighed, drunk on pleasure. It had been far, far too long since she'd had an orgasm anything like as good as that one. Actually, she wasn't sure she _ever_ had. She'd never relaxed enough, never trusted anyone as she did Wade. She looked up into his hazel-gold eyes and smiled.

"I didn't see your words yet either."

He arched his eyebrows. "Well, they're probably visible at the moment."

She looked at him in puzzlement. They weren't anywhere on his chest or back, she knew that. "What?"

"They're not always fully visible, the words." He laid a hand over his groin. "You sure you want to see?"

"They're not _really_ on your dick," Skye said disbelievingly.

"They certainly are, babe, and I have to tell you it took me quite a few years to get over the resentment I felt towards you for the amount of pain I suffered when they burned themselves in."

"Oh my God," she covered her mouth with her hand and began to giggle. "_Really_?"

"Really. I thought it was gonna fall off."

Well, after that, Skye just _had_ to look. She wanted to anyway, she admitted to herself, as she worked at Wade's belt. He lay back comfortably, putting his hands behind his head and relaxing, letting her take things at her own pace, lifting his hips to let her work off his trousers and boxer shorts. And then he was naked too, lying there utterly relaxed – except for one part of him that most definitely wasn't relaxed at all.

And yes, her words really were on his dick. She'd half-expected them to encircle it, but instead they were written in a straight line from just above his balls to just below the glans. _But I really didn't want a superhero for a soulmate_. They'd only be completely readable when he was fully aroused, as he was now. She glanced up at him, wide-eyed.

"You're why I became a merc, you know," Wade said softly. "I didn't much fancy the supervillain thing, and with what Weapon Plus did to me – there weren't too many other options." He grinned. "Fortunately, Warren's very rich. And Gambit just goes out and wins card games if he needs to pay me."

"You're terrible," she couldn't help but laugh. "You made your friends pay you?"

"Be a pretty shit merc if I didn't get paid. It's worked out well, I'm quite rich these days. You want diamonds, babe? Designer clothes, pretty things? Not that I could buy _you_, I know that – but anything you want, just say the word and it's yours."

Skye shook her head. "I don't want anything." She traced a finger down his stomach, watching the way his lips parted and his eyes hooded. "Nothing but you."

"Any time, anywhere, any way you want me, babe," Wade said, sucking in a sharp breath as she straddled his thighs, her slim fingers trailing up his cock, cupping the head in her palm for a moment before stroking back down. "Ah, yeah, _fuck_ that's good!"

Skye slid down his thighs, bending her head. "Is this all right?" she asked softly, kissing down his stomach.

"You're _seriously_ asking my permission to put your mouth on my dick?" He groaned as she laughed just before licking a swift circle around the swollen tip. "Gargh!" his hands fisted in the sheets, fighting not to buck up into her mouth. Skye leaned her arms on his hips so that if he did he wouldn't force himself into her throat, and concentrated on sucking as much of his length into her mouth as she could manage without gagging.

"Oh, yeah, fucking _hell_, Skye, please…" Wade was babbling, begging, and didn't care. She moved off him and he cried out with the loss of her hot mouth, until he heard foil rip and forced his eyes open to see her sliding a condom down over his swollen arousal. Shifting back, he propped his shoulders against the headboard and planted his feet on the bed; no way was he going to make Skye do all the work here, even though she obviously wanted to be on top. He'd need some leverage.

Skye climbed back onto Wade, smiling as his strong hands settled on her hips.

"I fuckin' love you," he told her sincerely. "Thought I should tell you _before_ I get my dick in you, though, make sure you believe me."

"I believe you." She leaned forward to kiss him, felt him shift his hips and press upward. "Ohhh."

"Like that, babe?" he asked as she tipped her head back and shuddered. "Feel good?"

"Oh, _Wade_." Her small, slender hands settled on his shoulders and she leaned back, making him groan too as he sank deeper. "_So_ good."

"You sure are." She felt wonderful, tight and slick as she slowly took him in all the way, pressing down until she was seated on his lap. He reached up to take her breasts in his hands once she was all the way down on him, teasing her nipples with his thumbs, watching her as she shifted and panted against him. "So good, fuck, _yeah_ babe!" She set a rhythm that was guaranteed to get him off in short order, quick light jolts of her hips, never letting him slip too far out of her body.

Skye watched with something like awe as Wade surrendered completely to her, let her control their lovemaking with very obvious delight. He was beautiful, sweat shining lightly on his golden skin as his muscles rippled, strong body shifting under hers as he sought to find an angle that would be perfect for them both. She leaned back a little further as he brought his knees up to press against her back, and suddenly _oh God right there_ – he was running over her G-spot with every movement either of them made.

She was going to come again, he could see from the look on her face, climax wrapped around him like a hot wet glove. The very thought of it pushed Wade desperately close to the edge and he groaned and put his hand on his stomach, angling his fingers up to work over Skye's clit. She yelped, her rhythm stuttering, hands clutching at his wrists, and he took over smoothly, thrusting up into her as he rubbed and circled.

Skye let out a sobbing wail as she came, convulsing, barely aware of Wade's shout of her name as he followed her over the edge a few seconds later. She collapsed slowly down to lie on his chest, breathing fast, feeling his arms wrap tightly around her as he held her close, hips still jerking slightly in the aftermath of his release.

He didn't say anything. Not for several minutes, which was so unlike Wade that Skye had to lean up on her arms and look at him.

"Are you all right?"

"Of course!" he frowned. "Just had the best sex of my life, what is there that could be even remotely not all right about that?"

"You're quiet…"

He laughed, a soft, shaking rumble that travelled right through her from where he was still inside her, even though he'd softened. "And you're shocked! I was just relaxing and enjoying the moment." Gently he reached up, smoothed her bangs out of her eyes. "Thinking about how perfect you are."

"Not perfect," she climbed off him with a little blush and shake of her head and headed into the bathroom. He gave her privacy, took his turn when she'd finished, waited for her to invite him back into the bed before spooning up behind her.

"None of us are perfect, babe. But you're perfect for _me_. That's all anyone can ask for, I reckon."

Skye sighed and snuggled happily into his arms. "I think I love you, too," she mumbled drowsily, and drifted off to sleep with Wade pressing light, fervent kisses along her shoulder and the back of her neck.

He waited until she was sound asleep before saying quietly; "Thank you."

_You're welcome, Wade. Now go the fuck to sleep._

"You sound strangely like Nick Fury when you say that…" his eyes drifted closed and he was asleep.

**The End (again)**

**(REALLY this time, thank you very much, Deadpool)**

**(**_**Go The Fuck To Sleep **_**is a hilarious book narrated by Samuel L. Jackson – who of course plays Nick Fury. Couldn't resist the reference!)**

**THANK YOU so much again to all of you who have been reading along with this fic. It's been a bit of a crazy ride, and yeah, I still don't quite know how I fell so much in love with Jemma and Gambit (and Skye and Deadpool) but I LOVE the fact that so many of you were willing to buy into these unlikely pairings with me.**

**I'm very much not done with the Soulmates universe yet, of course. Still so many of the Shorts I want to expand! That Jemma/Bucky is still swimming around in my head somewhere, and I do want to play a bit more with Skye/Angel and a number of the others! If you didn't check them out yet, have a look at the Index on Page 1 of the Shorts, because there are several other excellent authors writing continuations – and lots of others that need working on, hint hint! Everyone's been BEGGING for Skye/Bruce since I published it a couple of days ago and I really can't see a plot there…**

**Now, I have finally got my social-media-phobic ass in gear and created a tumblr for my writing. It's called ozhawkauthor and I'm sure as I get used to it, it should get more interesting – I will share headcanons, chat and other stuff about my writing, even maybe accept requests and publish scene snippets and out-takes that don't fit anywhere else, or plot bunnies that I'm never going to write, plus extra-bonus hotsauce photos of the gorgeous MCU men who inspire me to write, so please get on over and say hi, encourage me to work with it more!**


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